CLARA  E  LAUGHLIN 


CLARA  E.  LAUGHLIN 

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•Ho\\'s   the  Penny   Philanthropy   coming  on,    1V».J 
'Fine!    Why  don't  you  try   it?" 

'Couldn't  make  it  work.    I'll  give  you  a  dollar  a  day  to  give  it 
'What   good'll  that  be  doing  you?"  she  demanded. 


The 

Penny  Philanthropist 

A  Story  That  Could  Be  True 


By 
CLARA  E.  LAUGH  LIN 

Author  of  "  The  Gleaners"  "Everybody's  Lone- 
some" "Evolution  of  a  Girl's  Ideal"   "The 
Lady  in  Gray"  "Divided"  etc. 


New   York      Chicago      Toronto 
Fleming  H.  Revel  I  Company 

London         and        Edinburgh 


Copyright,  1912,  by 
FLEMING  H.  REVELL  COMPANY 


New  York:  158  Fifth  Avenue 
Chicago:  125  North  W abash  Ave. 
Toronto:  25  Richmond  Street,  W. 
London:  21  Paternoster  Square 
Edinburgh:  100  Princes  Street 


To  D.  B. 


2136858 


CONTENTS 

I.  MAINLY  DESCRIPTIVE  .         .  .11 

II.  THE  HERO  APPEARS    .        .  .18 

III.  You  MEET  PEGGY        ...       25 

IV.  THE  HERO  GETS  A  JOB        .  .       36 

V.  A  CRUMPLED  NOTE     ...      46 

VI.  THE  PLOT  THICKENS    .        .  .55 

VII.  PETIE  AND  POLLY         ...      68 

VIII.  ANNE  BEGINS  TO  GET  ACQUAINTED      79 

IX.  TOM  GETS  A  MESSAGE          .  .      91 

X.  You  CAN  HEAR  THE  BREAKERS  .      99 
XL  ANNE  MAKES  A  SUGGESTION  .     105 

XII.  TOM  COMES  TO  GRIEF          .  .118 

XIII.  WRAPPED  IN  LUXURY  .        .  .129 

XIV.  A  SUDDEN  DECISION    .        .  .138 

XV.  ANNE  WINS  A  POINT    .        .  .     143 

XVI.  A  FRANK  DECLARATION       .  .147 

XVII.  FURTHER  COMPLICATIONS     .  .     153 

XVIII.  A  STRANGE  SCENE       .        .  .158 

XIX.  PAID  BACK  WITH  INTEREST  .     168 

XX.  BURNS  EXPLAINS          .        .  .174 
XXL  ANNE  TELLS  HER  DREAM    .  .181 

XXII.  A  CASE  FOR  TOM         .         .  .187 

XXIII.  LUIGI  SAYS  NOTHING   .         .  .197 

XXIV.  A  HEROINE  OF  HIGH  ROMANCE  .     201 

XXV.  THE  PEGGY  CLUB         .        .  .205 


I 

In  Which  We  Are  Mainly  Descriptive — But  I 
Hope  You'll  Read  It;  Because  There  Worit 
Be  Any  More  Like  It,  And  This  Wouldn't 
Be  Here  If  It  Could  Have  Been  Left  Out 

IF  this  story  had  been  written  in  the  long- 
ago,   it   would   have,  begun  :    "  Gentle 
reader,  do  you  know  Halsted  Street?" 
But  if  you  were  a  gentle  reader  you  probably 
would  not  have  known  Halsted  Street ;  and 
if  it  were  long  ago,  you  could  not  have  known 
it.     For  when  it  was  the  fashion  to  begin 
stories  in  that  way,  Chicago  was  not  on  the 
map. 

True  to  the  brisker  fashion  of  story-telling 
to  which  I  am  bred,  I  was  about  to  begin : 
"  A  light  snow  had  been  falling  since  three 
o'clock,  and  at  five-thirty,  Halsted  Street  still 
had  a  comparatively  untrodden  appearance  " 
— indeed,  I  had  actually  so  begun  and  was 
well  under  way  with  my  tale,  when  I  was  con- 
fronted by  one  of  those  challenging  questions 
which  are  forever  bobbing  out  of  a  writer's 
critical  mind  to  make  him  think  despairingly 
ii 


12    THE  PENNY  PHILANTHROPIST 

ill  of  the  things  that  have  just  bobbed  out  of 
his  creative  fancy. 

"  What  will  that  mean  to  most  readers  ?  " 
urged  this  unanswerable  disturber.  "  Why, 
so  far  as  they  can  be  expected  to  know, 
should  not  snow  that  has  been  falling  on 
Halsted  Street  since  three  o'clock  still  look 
comparatively  untrodden  at  five-thirty? 
How  many  persons  who  read  stories  have 
any  reason  to  know  Halsted  Street  as  so 
continuously  busy  a  thoroughfare  that  snow 
could  not  lie  on  it  untrodden  enough  to 
show  individual  footprints,  except  between 
3  A.  M.,  when  night  is  over  for  some,  and 
5 : 30  A.  M.,  when  day  is  beginning  for 
others  ?  " 

Why,  indeed?  If  my  story  were  con- 
cerned with  people  on  Whitechapel  Road  or 
on  The  Bowery,  I  could  do  with  less  expla- 
nation. Perhaps  there  will  come  a  day  when 
Halsted  Street  may  be  as  self-descriptive. 
But,  for  the  present,  I  am  sure  I  shall  do  bet- 
ter if  I  explain  that  Halsted  Street,  which 
claims  to  be  the  longest  street  in  the  world 
and  is  certainly  one  of  the  most  cosmopoli- 
tan, is  the  main  artery  of  Chicago  life  for 
many  hundreds  of  thousands  of  citizens.  For 
a  single  carfare  you  may  traverse  on  it,  with- 
out change  of  cars,  an  American  city  of  com- 


MAINL  Y  DESCRIPTIVE  13 

fortable,  cultivated,  middle-class  folk  ;  a  Ger- 
man city  second  in  population  only  to  Berlin  ; 
a  Polish  city  second  only  to  Warsaw  ;  an 
Italian  city,  a  city  of  Russian  Jews,  a  city  of 
Greeks,  a  city  of  Irish,  a  city  of  Bohemians, 
and — still  nearing  the  Stock  Yards — a  city  of 
Lithuanians  ;  and  so  on. 

At  Randolph  Street  is  the  wide,  open  space 
still  called  The  Haymarket,  though  now,  by 
nine  or  ten  o'clock  nights,  laden  market 
wagons  begin  to  wend  thither  from  the  truck 
farms  north  and  south  and  west,  and  at  mid- 
night the  available  space  is  packed,  while 
sleeping  forms  sprawl  or  huddle  (according 
to  season)  on  loads  of  carrots  and  cabbages. 
At  three,  the  produce  market  is  in  full  activ- 
ity. 

This  is  the  heart  of  Chicago's  Whitechapel 
district.  All  around  here  live  men  and 
women  to  whom  there  are  no  unknown 
depths  of  degradation.  The  last  stand  of 
the  hope-abandoned,  en  route  to  Potter's 
Field,  is  hereabouts.  Pawn-shops  and  grog- 
geries  abound.  The  buildings  are,  for  the 
most  part,  little  and  mean  and  low — many  of 
them  mere  wooden  rookeries.  Cheap  hotels 
are  on  every  hand ;  and  two  blocks  south, 
Halsted  Street  crosses  Madison — a  busier 
thoroughfare,  more  like  The  Bowery,  with 


14    THE  PENNY  PHILANTHROPIST 

banks  and  theatres  and  easy-payment  em- 
poriums, and  lodging-houses  overflowing  with 
unemployed,  and  unemployable,  men. 

Three  more  blocks  to  the  south,  one  comes 
to  Jackson  Boulevard,  a  wide,  asphalted 
street  which  is  the  main  artery  for  carriage 
and  automobile  circulation  east  and  west. 

Down  Halsted  Street  from  the  north — from 
the  purlieus  of  aristocracy  on  the  Lake  Shore 
— come  the  limousines  of  manufacturers 
whose  enormous  "  works "  are  in  the  huge 
industrial  territory  Halsted  Street  traverses  ; 
and  the  limousines  of  their  wives  and  daugh- 
ters en  route  to  Hull-House  (now  probably 
the  most  celebrated  Social  Settlement  in  the 
world)  to  "  study  conditions,"  as  present  fash- 
ion decrees.  And  across  Halsted  Street,  on 
Jackson  Boulevard,  come  others  of  like  sort, 
from  the  business  and  shopping  centres  and 
from  the  residential  sections  and  suburbs  of 
the  West  Side. 

A  vortex  of  humanity,  that  particular  sec- 
tion of  Halsted  Street  where  our  Peggy  has 
her  background — not  far  from  The  Hay- 
market  and  its  near-by  dens,  nor  yet  from  the 
haunts  of  the  workless  and  despondent ;  but 
in  the  path  of  the  passing  prosperous. 

Now  that  you  know  the  general  character 
of  that  part  of  Halsted  Street,  I  hope  you 


MAINL  Y  DESCRIPTIVE  15 

may  without  too  much  difficulty  draw  a 
mental  picture  of  a  small  section  of  it  on  a 
chill  mid-December  morning  towards  six 
o'clock : 

On  the  corner  is  Neeley's  saloon ;  thirty 
feet  north  of  the  corner  is  a  narrow  door  over 
which  a  sign  says,  "  Family  Entrance." 
Neeley  bought  the  sign  along  with  the  lease 
and  the  license  and  the  bar  fixtures — and  the 
lettering  on  the  windows  which  says,  "  Fam- 
ily Trade  a  Specialty,"  although  everybody 
knows  how  far  from  "  family  trade  "  Neeley's 
specialty  is. 

Martinelli's  coffee  stall  or  lunch  counter 
comes  next :  a  long,  narrow  store  furnished 
with  a  counter  and  stools,  and  serving  day 
and  night  the  simplest  refreshments. 

The  house  adjoining  Martinelli's  on  the 
north  is  of  red  brick,  two-story  and  basement, 
with  a  high  wooden  "  stoop."  Years  ago 
when  it  was  new — just  after  the  Chicago  fire 
— it  was  the  all-but-pretentious  home  of  some 
well-to-do  family.  Then  came  declining  for- 
tunes :  boarding-house,  first ;  then  lodging- 
house  ;  then  tenement.  The  front  basement 
room  has  a  wee  shop,  now — Peggy's.  "  Who- 
iver,"  as  she  says,  "  'd  of  thought  I'd  git  to 
be  the  owner  of  a  daypartmint  store :  wan 
daypartmint  fer  newspapers,  an'  wan  fer 


16    THE  PENNY  PHILANTHROPIST 

maggyzines,  an'  wan  fer  chewin'-gum,  an' 
wan  fer  stamps  ? "  Behind  the  shop,  a 
kitchen  living-room,  and  a  tiny  bedroom 
which  I  suspect  was  once  the  kitchen  pantry  ; 
these  are  Peggy's  home. 

On  the  other  side  of  Peggy's  shop  is  a 
store  where  Levinsky  deals,  none  too  briskly, 
in  workmen's  apparel :  corduroys  and  jeans  ; 
cowhide  shoes  and  leather  gloves  ;  hickory 
shirts  and  heavy  socks — and  such  gear. 

Peggy  has  never  known  any  other  environ- 
ment than  this.  She  has  sold  papers  on  this 
corner  since  she  was  six  years  old :  first  as  a 
stray  merchant  with  her  stock  under  her 
arm  ;  then  from  a  curbstone  stand  ;  and  now, 
if  you  please,  from  what  she  calls  an  "  im- 
porium."  She  seldom  goes  far  from  here. 
Why  should  she,  when  all  the  world  comes 
to  her? 

All  else  that  I  thought  I  must  surely  say 
about  Peggy  before  you  see  her  I  have 
written  and  rewritten — and  thrown  away. 
She  speaks  best  for  herself.  But  to  under- 
stand her  you  must  know  the  conditions 
whose  product  she  is. 

Now,  then !  We  shall  have  the  light 
snowfall  and  those  footprints — and  no  more 
topography.  And  I  am  glad  that  you  are 
to  have  a  chance  to  meet  her  for  your  first 


MAINL  Y  DESCRIPTIVE  1 7 

time  in  the  dawn  of  a  new  day — for  days  get 
soiled  quickly,  on  Halsted  Street — and  in  the 
whiteness  of  a  fresh  snowfall  which  heavy 
and  heedless  feet  have  not  yet  begun  to 
trample  into  mire. 


II 

In  Which  We  Get  None  Too  Briskly  Started, 
And  The  Hero  Appears 

IT  is  dark  as  night  at  6  A.  M.  in  mid-De- 
cember ;  but  by  that  time  lights  have 
begun  to  shine  here  and  there  in  dwell- 
ing windows,  for  factory  whistles  blow  at 
seven. 

As  McGarigle  came  down  Halsted  Street, 
though,  swinging  his  night-stick,  there  were 
few  signs  of  dawning  day.  A  light  burned 
behind  the  drawn  blinds  of  Neeley's  ;  but  the 
doors  were  not  yet  unlocked.  And  Marti 
nelli's  was  as  it  had  been  since  one  o'clock  : 
half-illumined,  and  the  Italian  cat-napping 
behind  his  coffee-urn. 

McGarigle  stopped  in  front  of  Peggy's. 
By  her  door  was  a  wooden  box  with  a  pad- 
lock. Carriers  left  her  papers  here  on  their 
early-morning  rounds ;  and  McGarigle  tapped 
the  lock  with  his  stick,  making  sure  that  it 
was  fast. 

Then  he  strolled  on  to  Martinelli's  window, 
where  he  rapped. 

"  Hey,  Dago  1 "  he  called,  sticking  his  head 
18 


THE  HERO  APPEARS  19 

in  at  the  door.  "  Wake  up  ;  er  some  wan'll 
be  stalein'  a  doughnut  off  ye." 

Suddenly  very  wide  awake,  Martinelli 
smiled — as  one  who  knew  the  improbability 
of  such  a  theft. 

"  You  try,"  he  invited  significantly,  and  not 
without  a  glint  of  subtle  humour — which  Mc- 
Garigle  ignored. 

Standing  in  front  of  his  window  and  at  a 
right  angle  to  it  so  as  to  catch  the  eyes  of 
passers  up  and  down,  Martinelli  had  a 
double-faced  sign  with  a  legend  whose  main 
purport  was : 

Coffee  and  3  doughnut 50. 

Coffee  and  3  roll 50. 

Coffee  and  piece  of  pie 50. 

Hot  Frankfurter  Sandwich       .     .  50. 

Hot  Fried  Egg  Sandwich    ...  50. 

In  a  space  above  the  legend  hung  three 
cards  reading,  respectively,  Breakfast,  Lunch, 
Supper. 

Martinelli  came  out,  now,  and  slipped  the 
Supper  card  from  the  top  to  the  bottom  of 
the  pile  on  each  face  of  the  board,  so  that 
whether  northbound  or  southbound,  in  his 
haste  or  his  unbroken  leisure,  his  early-rising 
or  his  late-returning,  the  passer-by  might 
know  a  new  day  was  begun. 

McGarigle  watched   this  proceeding  with 


20    277^  PENNY  PHILANTHROPIST 

an  interest  which  years  of  familiarity  with  it 
had  increased  rather  than  abated. 

"  I  see  Peggy  've  got  her  new  sign,"  he 
observed,  looking  at  it. 

Martinelli  smiled  with  an  interest  almost 
proprietary. 

"  Got  yeste'day,"  he  said. 

"  '  News  Emporium/  "  laughed  McGarigle, 
reading  it.  "  Ain't  she  the  great  wan  ?  I  bet 
she's  proud  !  I've  known  that  kid  since  she 
sold  her  first  armful  o'  papers  on  this  corner 
— whin  she  was  six,  an'  looked  three.  That 
was  just  after  her  pa  took  Frinch  1'ave — be- 
fore Petie  was  born.  Say  ! "  McGarigle  was 
made  reminiscent  by  the  sign.  "  Them  kids 
an'  their  ma  had  tough  pullin'  to  kape  alive. 
No  wonder  the  mother  give  out.  If  ever  a 
hard-workin'  woman  starved  to  death,  she 
did.  An'  now  here's  that  morsel  of  a  Peg, 
fatherin'  an'  motherin'  the  other  two  as  fine's 
you  please,  an'  runnin'  what  she  calls  an 
'  imporium  '  1 " 

"Peggy  run  the  street,"  said  Martinelli, 
proudly. 

"  Sure  she  does  1  Ain't  she  Irish  ?  Why 
wouldn't  she  run  a  bunch  o'  Yiddishers  an' 
dagoes?  Say  !  Ye  know  ye' re  obstructin'  the 
sidewalk  wid  that  sign — violatin'  the  ord'- 
nance  !  Five  dollars  fine — if  I  rayport  it." 


THE  HERO  APPEARS  21 

Martinelli  grinned.  "A'  right,"  he  re- 
plied ;  and  entered  his  shop  where  he  drew 
McGarigle  a  hot  coffee  and  passed  it  out  to 
him  with  a  plate  of  doughnuts. 

Lights,  meanwhile,  had  begun  to  glimmer 
in  Levinsky's  ;  and  presently  the  door  opened 
and  Levinsky  came  out.  He  might  easily 
have  alarmed  an  uninitiated  and  nervous  per- 
son ;  for  he  was  dragging,  rather  savagely, 
an  unresisting  gentleman  wearing  a  bearskin 
overcoat.  McGarigle,  gulping  down  his 
coffee,  watched  with  amusement  the  familiar 
ceremony  as  Levinsky  jerked  the  man  un- 
gently  to  his  small  black  feet,  and  fastened  to 
the  store-front  with  a  padlock  a  chain  which 
came  down  through  the  sleeves  of  the  fur 
coat.  Flapping  on  the  breast  of  the  endur- 
ing one  was  a  very  dirty  sign  which  read  : 
"  Sale  Price !  $9.93." 

"  H'lo,  Solomon  ! "  the  policeman  called. 
"  Snow  to-day ;  maybe  ye'll  sell  that  coat." 

Levinsky  grunted  unbelievingly. 

"How  many  years  you  had  it ? " 

"  Four." 

"  Motormen  don't  need  'em  no  more ;  an' 
tamesters  can't  be  bothered  wid  'em.  What 
y'  ought  to  do  is,  take  that  up  on  the  Nort' 
Side  an'  label  it  '  Fer  outdoor  sPapin'.'  It'd 
sell  quick  I " 


22    THE  PENNY  PHILANTHROPIST 

Levinsky  looked  the  scorn  he  felt  for  the 
commercial  sense  of  the  Irish. 

"  Why  don'd  you  go  een  beesness  ? "  he 
asked,  sarcastically.  "You  know  so  much 
aboud ! " 

McGarigle  handed  the  cup  back  to  Marti- 
nelli  and  wiped  his  mouth  with  the  back  of 
his  hand. 

"Ye' re  violatin'  the  ord' nance  wid  that 
dummy,"  he  reminded. 

Levinsky  glared  black  hate,  went  into  his 
shop  and  almost  instantly  emerged  with  a 
pair  of  shoe-laces  which  he  thrust  at  Mc- 
Garigle. 

Martinelli,  looking  on  interestedly,  grinned  ; 
and  McGarigle  struggled  to  keep  from  doing 
likewise. 

"  I  told  ye  the  las'  time,"  he  charged  Le- 
vinsky, "  that  I  ain't  no  centypede." 

"  Save  them  an'  go  een  beesness  ! "  Levin- 
sky  suggested,  ironically ;  "  on  the  Nord 
Side  ! " 

Then  McGarigle  remembered  that  he  was 
travelling  a  beat — and  resumed  his  journey. 

He  had  been  gone  but  a  minute  or  two 
when  a  young  man  came  down  Halsted 
Street  from  the  north,  paused  a  moment — as 
if  irresolute — before  Levinsky's,  passed  on  to 
Peggy's  and,  in  evident  disappointment  to 


THE  HERO  APPEARS  23 

find  her  stand  empty,  stepped  to  her  shop 
door  and  listened.  Then  he  went  into  Mar- 
tinelli's,  and  straddled  a  stool. 

Martinelli  looked  surprised.  "  Early — to- 
day 1 "  he  commented,  with  a  questioning  in- 
flection. 

"  Yes,"  answered  the  young  man,  in  an 
uncommunicative  tone. 

"  Got  job  ?  "  the  Italian  pursued. 

"  No." 

"You  sleep  yet,"  was  Martinelli's'  un- 
offended  conclusion,  as  he  drew  a  cup  of 
coffee  and  passed  it  to  the  young  man  with  a 
plate  of  rolls — minus  butter  or  any  substitute 
for  it. 

The  young  man  was  a  good-looking  fel- 
low, with  the  beauty  of  wholesome  youth. 
Even  to  the  least-observing  eye,  he  was  no 
product  of  Halsted  Street,  although  not  an 
unfamiliar  type  there  ;  for  fine,  eager  young 
soldiers  of  fortune  newly  come  from  country 
and  small  town  to  attack  the  city's  strong- 
holds of  Opportunity  not  infrequently  find 
their  first  associations  among  the  down-and- 
outs  ;  there  are  no  cheap  lodgings  which  in- 
vite "  The  Young  and  Hopeful  Only." 

As  this  young  man  is  our  hero,  it  may  be 
as  well  to  say  that  he  looked  about  four-and- 
twenty ;  that  he  was  of  an  average  height 


24   THE  PENNY  PHILANTHROPIST 

and  build ;  that  his  hair  and  eyes  were 
brown,  his  teeth  and  complexion  exception- 
ally fine,  his  clothes  pretty  good  as  to  orig- 
inal quality  but  showing  signs  of  long  wear, 
and  that  the  most  significant  thing  about  him 
was  none  of  the  foregoing  details  but  the 
general  air  he  carried — an  air  of  doggedness, 
of  being  already  at  odds  with  the  world,  of 
having  lost  faith  in  his  power  to  win. 

Now,  having  met  the  hero,  you  shall  meet 
Peggy  1 


Ill 

In   Which    You  Find  Out  Quite  a  Bit  About 
Peggy 

A  GAS  jet  flared  suddenly  in  Peggy's 
"  imporium,"  the  door  opened,  and 
out  into  the  dark  and  chill  and  snow 
came   a  small   boy,   yawning  prodigiously, 
digging   his   knuckles  into  his  reluctant-to- 
open    eyes,   and    otherwise    expressing  the 
merest  semi-awakeness.     He  bent  to  unlock 
the  box  and  get  out  his  papers  for  delivery  ; 
and  as  by  magic  his  lax,  unenergetic  little 
form  stiffened  into  electrified  alertness. 

"Tracks  I"  he  whispered,  mysteriously; 
and  got  down  to  measure  and  differentiate 
them  with  a  wise  eye — the  other  was  squinted 
shut.  "  Tracks  1" 

Peggy  called  him,  but  he  did  not  hear. 
When  she  came  to  the  door  he  rose  up  and 
faced  her. 

"  There's  been  robbers  here  1 "  he  said, 
more  delighted  than  distressed.  "Two  of 
'em !  Look ! "  He  pointed  to  the  foot- 
prints in  the  snow. 

"  Are  the  papers  gon'  ? "  Peggy  cried  in 
alarm. 

25 


26    THE  PENNY  PHILANTHROPIST 

As  if  that  were,  after  all,  of  minor  interest, 
Petie  tried  the  lock.  It  was  fast. 

"No,"  he  replied  indifferently.  "But," 
with  renewed  eagerness,  "I  b'leeve  it  was 
on'y  one  robber,  an'  McGarigle  chasm'  him. 
Them  big  feet  is  McGarigle' s " 

"Petie!"  cried  Peggy,  comically,  as  she 
stooped  to  unlock  the  box.  "I  ruther  be 
robbed  wanst  in  a  while  than  scairt  every 
day  wid  yer  sleuthin'.  Here  1 "  handing  him 
his  papers.  "  Away  wid  ye  an'  maybe  ye 
kin  ketch  thim.  In  anny  case,  ye' re  sure  to 
ketch  McGarigle." 

Muttering  indignation  because  his  science 
was  so  little  appreciated,  Petie  took  himself 
off  on  his  delivery  round.  And  when  he  was 
gone,  Peggy  stood  smiling  after  him — a  dear 
little  whimsical,  wistful  smile  that  was  moth- 
erly as  with  ages  of  experience,  and  childish 
with  teasing  fun. 

You  want  a  picture  of  Peggy  ?  Well,  she 
was  a  wisp  of  a  wee  thing,  turned  eighteen 
and  tipping  the  butcher's  scale  at  some 
eighty-odd  pounds.  She  stood  four-feet-ten 
in  her  Sunday  shoes,  and  her  tously  hair  was 
nondescript  but  inclined  to  be  reddish,  while 
her  eyes  were  so  full  of  dancing  lights  that 
hardly  any  one  could  say  what  their  colour 
was.  I'm  not  even  sure  that  I  know.  Per- 


YOU  MEET  PEGGY  27 

haps  they  were  gray ;  perhaps  they  were 
blue.  I  can't  swear  for  a  certainty  that  they 
may  not  have  been  hazel.  The  tiny  hands 
of  Peg  were  red  and  roughened  from  expo- 
sure and  hard  work  ;  and  the  baby-size  fea- 
ture which  served  her  for  a  nose  was  lightly 
powdered  with  pale-brown  freckles.  Her 
mouth  was  merry  and  sweet,  and  her  brogue 
was  rich  and  rolling — what  little  schooling 
she  had  snatched  had  not  sufficed  to  make 
her  commonplace,  even  in  her  accent  or  her 
idiom.  She  was  wearing  a  plaid  skirt  the 
originial  hues  of  which  were  unguessable, 
but  its  predominating  tone  at  present  was  a 
greenish  brown ;  the  skirt  flared  about  her 
ankles,  and  had  a  bunchy  fullness  in  the 
back  that  suggested  the  services  of  a  large 
safety-pin.  Her  short,  thick  jacket  was  also 
weather-worn  as  to  colour  and  antiquated  as 
to  style.  And  on  her  head  Peggy  wore  a 
close-fitting  knitted  cap  such  as  small  boys 
often  wear. 

When  Petie  was  out  of  sight  she  set  briskly 
to  work  to  whisk  her  outdoor  stand  free  of 
snow.  This  stand  was  in  the  shelter  of  the 
high  "stoop,"  and  from  behind  it  Peggy 
could  hand  papers  to  passers-by  without 
bringing  them  a  step  out  of  their  hurrying 
way.  She  kept  her  wares  on  it  all  day  in 


28    THE  PENNY  PHILANTHROPIST 

good  weather,  and  during  the  morning  and 
evening  rush  hours  only  when  it  was  wet  or 
cold. 

Almost  at  once,  her  neighbours  stood 
framed  in  their  respective  doorways.  Peggy 
saw  Martinelli  first. 

"The  top  o'  the  mornin'!"  she  called  to 
him,  cheerily. 

"  Night,  yed !  "  observed  Levinsky  from 
beside  the  bearskin  coat. 

"  Mornin'  when  you  come,"  said  Martinelli 
to  Peggy,  with  Latin  gallantry. 

"  An*  a  cold  day,"  Peggy  retorted,  laying 
out  her  papers,  "  whin  you  can't  throw  a  bo- 
kay.  Have  you  thro  wed  wan  at  Levinsky  ?  " 

Martinelli  grinned. 

"  Come,  now,"  Peggy  demanded  of  Levin- 
sky.  "  Where's  me  smile  to  begin  the  day 
wid?" 

Levinsky  smiled  wanly;  the  attempt 
seemed  honest ;  but  any  less  of  a  smile 
would  have  been  no  smile  at  all. 

"  G'wan ! "  Peggy  cried  mirthfully. 
"  Stretch  yer  face,  Solomon !  Make  it  a 
good  wan,  er  ye'll  fergit  how.  Sure,  it's 
the  on'y  practice  ye  give  yerself.  I'm  gittin' 
discour'ged  wid  you.  Honest,  I  am  !  " 

"  Bad  times,"  he  murmured,  shaking  his 
grizzled  head. 


YOU  MEET  PEGGY  29 

"  On'y  wan  way  to  make  'em  better,"  she 
retorted.  "Times  that's  bad  fer  makin' 
money  is  sure  to  be  grand  fer  givin'  it  away." 

But  at  the  introduction  of  so  idle  a  theme, 
Levinsky  remembered  that  he  had  obliga- 
tions within  doors. 

Peggy  was  gazing  proudly  up  at  her  new 
sign  when  the  young  man,  having  hastily 
finished  his  coffee  and  rolls,  came  out  of 
Martinelli's. 

"  Are  you  late  or  early  ? "  she  laughed  ; 
but  there  was  a  telltale  self-consciousness  in 
her  manner. 

"  Early,"  he  replied  ;  and  putting  his  hand 
in  a  pocket  produced  a  copper  which  he  laid 
on  the  stand  and  helped  himself  to  a  paper. 

"  You  must  have  lost  somethin'  yeste'day," 
Peggy  hazarded,  "by  gittin'  to  it  five  min- 
utes late." 

"  I  didn't  get  that  close  to  anything,"  he 
answered  ;  and  seemed  about  to  go — not  be- 
cause he  wanted  to,  but  because  he  was 
ashamed  of  his  "  blues." 

Peggy  tugged  at  his  sleeve,  wistfully. 
"  Kin  ye  spare  it?  "  she  asked. 

He  knew  she  meant  the  penny ;  but  he 
pretended  not  to  understand.  "  What  do 
you  mean?"  he  said  stiffly. 

Peggy  was  not  easily  rebuffed  ;  she  seemed 


30   THE  PENNY  PHILANTHROPIST 

to  realize  that  human  need  must  make  its 
brief  little  last  stand  behind  pride  before  it 
opens  the  heart's  door  to  sympathy. 

"  All  right,"  she  replied  quickly,  as  if  turn- 
ing it  off.  "  On'y,  a  cent's  a  good  dale, 
sometimes,  jest  fer  to  look  in  a  paper  whin 
ye're  huntin'  a  job.  An'  I  don'  mind." 

"Mind  what?" 

"  Mind  if  ye  look  an'  don'  pay.  It  don't 
hurt  the  paper  none." 

"I  shouldn't  think  that  was  very  good 
business  for  you,"  he  observed,  impersonally. 

Peggy  laughed.  "  I  don't  nade  all  the 
money  in  the  world  to  make  me  happy. 
An'  I  seem  to  git  on.  I  always  tear  the 
Help  Wanteds  out  o'  wan  paper,  night  an' 
mornin',  an'  kape  'em  here  to  be  looked 
at  widout  pay.  At  first  I  used  to  put  by  a 
paper  fer  it.  But  I  don't  have  to  :  there's 
always  some  customer  that  I  kin  ask,  '  D '  ye 
nade  a  job?'  An'  whin  they  say,  'No,'  I 
give  thim  the  paper  wid  all  thim  onnecessary 
jobs  left  out.  They'd  on'y  throw  that  part 
away.  An'  I  hate  to  think  o'  that.  So  manny 
people  waste,  every  day,  what  other  folks 
want  awful  bad.  Seems  like  there  ought 
to  be  better  management." 

"I  wish  you  could  take  your  ideas  and 
work  them  out  in  some  of  the  great  big  ways 


YOU  MEET  PEGGY  31 

they're  needed,"  he  commented,  with  a 
warmth  that  was  not  impersonal. 

Peggy  shook  her  head.  "  Not  me ! "  she 
declared.  "  I  got  as  much  as  I  kin  do  to 
kape  'em  goin'  right  here.  An'  I  guess  that 
maybe  if  everybody'd  git  busy  wid  thim  ideas 
on  his  own  job,  instead  o'  thinkin'  how  grand 
he  could  use  'em  if  his  job  was  bigger,  it'd 
help  consid'rable." 

"  You  bet  it  would  I "  he  cried.  "  I  wish 
they  could  all  know  you.  Then  they'd  be 
ashamed  not  to  try  ! " 

"  Well,  that's  beyond  you  or  me,"  she  an- 
swered. "What  ain't  beyond  us  is  the  way 
I  manage  on  my  job,  an'  the  way  you  man- 
age on  yours.  Now,  Pave  us  take  a  look  at 
thim  Help  Wanteds,  before  me  Jrade  gits 
brisk." 

She  tore  the  Want  Ad.  section  from  one  of 
her  Tribunes,  and  spread  it  open  on  her  stand. 

"  Help  Wanted  :  Male,"  she  murmured. 
"  Now,  let's  see  ;  I  don'  belave  I  know  what 
kind  of  a  job  you  was  lookin'  fer." 

He  had  bought  papers  from  her  rather  reg- 
ularly for  the  past  fortnight  or  so — since  his 
dwindling  funds  had  driven  him  to  Marti- 
nelli's  counter  for  scant  sustenance  in  the  place 
of  meals ;  but  this  was  the  first  time  he  had 
found  Peggy  alone  for  more  than  a  moment 


32    THE  PENNY  PHILANTHROPIST 

at  a  time.  So,  although  she  knew  he  was 
hunting  a  job,  and  that  he  was  a  newcomer 
to  the  city,  that  was  the  sum  of  all  about  him 
that  she  did  know. 

"  I  was  looking,"  he  answered,  "  for  a 
place  as  accountant — bookkeeper.  But  what 
I'll  probably  get  is  a  nice  soft  job  with  a. pick. 
That's  why  I'm  on  the  hunt  so  early.  I've 
quit  looking  for  what  I  want.  It's  got  to  be 
what  I  can  get,  now." 

"  Well,"  Peggy  answered,  thoughtfully  ; 
"  sure  I  think  a  job  wid  a  pick's  a  lot  better 
'n  no  job  at  all.  But  this  is  kind  o'  bad 
weather  fer  picks.  Why  don't  ye  try  wan 
more  day  before  ye  give  up  ?  Think  how 
manny  smart  people  has  died  since  yister- 
day  1  Think  how  manny  folks  is  wonderin' 
how  they're  to  git  on  at  all  widout  the  ones 
that's  gon' ;  an'  here's  you,  that  could  help 
'em,  goin'  to  work  wid  a  pick !  Ain't  it  a 
pity  there's  no  better  ways  o'  people  that 
nade  each  other  findin'  each  other  out? 
There  was  that  girl  in  las'  night's  paper  that 
drowned  herself  in  the  lake  yisterday  be- 
cause she  couldn'  git  work.  An'  lots,  whin 
they  heard  it,  said  they'd  of  been  glad  to  git 
her.  That  made  me  feel  awful.  Now,  1'ave 
us  see.  Maybe  this's  your  lucky  day." 

She  turned  to  the  Ad.  section  and  when 


YOU  MEET  PEGGY  33 

she  had  found  the  column  with  bookkeepers 
in,  she  began  to  read  : 

"  '  Wanted  :  By  large  mercantile  house, 
young  man  wid  brains ' — there  you  are  I  Or, 
here — '  Wanted  :  Good-appearing  young 
man'  " — she  laughed  and  shook  her  head — 
"  '  to  sell  stock.'  '  Wanted :  Industrious 
young  man' — I  suppose  ye' re  industrious?" 

He  nodded. 

" '  Fer  cashier's  department ;  must  have  un- 
quistionable  riputation  and  riferences.'  " 

"  That  lets  mejDut,"  he  said,  bitterly. 

Peggy  straightened  up  with  a  little  gasp 
as  of  hurt.  Then,  "  I  don't  know  what  ye 
mane,"  she  said  slowly,  but  with  conviction ; 
"  but  I  don'  belave  you  ever  done  annything 
that  wasn* — square." 

The  young  man  turned  his  head  away  for 
a  moment ;  his  mouth  was  quivering  and  he 
did  not  want  her  to  see. 

"  I  didn't,"  he  answered,  unsteadily. 
"  And  neither  did  my  dad.  But  he's  suffer- 
ing— and  so  am  I.  He's  in — prison  ;  for  em- 
bezzling from  a  bank  he  was  cashier  of.  It 
was  the  president  that  was  crooked — dad 
was  a  cat's-paw — and  he  didn't  even  know. 
But  the  president  knew  how  to  dig  himself 
out  of  the  mess — and  he  did.  Somebody  had 
to  suffer — so  dad " 


34    THE  PENNY  PHILANTHROPIST 

"An'  ye  couldn'  do  a  thing?"  Peggy 
cried,  indignantly. 

"Not  a  thing  1  The  president  had  the 
biggest  creditor  behind  him.  We  appealed 
to  this  man — but  he  wouldn't  answer.  He's 
here,  in  Chicago.  I  came  here  to  try  to  see 
him.  But  I  couldn't  get  near  him !  When 
I'd  been  to  his  place  a  dozen  times,  they 
threatened  to  arrest  me  if  I  came  again.  I 
wrote  him  some  letters,  then,  and  told  him 
what  I  thought  of  him  and  that  it'd  be  my 
joy  in  life  to  see  him  get  what's  coming  to 
him.  But  I  don't  suppose  he  ever  even  saw 
the  letters ! " 

"  You  wouldn'  think  there  could  be  a  man 
that  mane,"  Peggy  declared. 

"You  don't  know  how  heartless  money 
makes  men,"  he  retorted.  "Those  million- 
aires have  no  heart  in  them.  How  could 
they?  If  they  had  hearts  of  pity,  or  con- 
sciences, they  couldn't  be  millionaires  ! " 

"  Oh,  I  don'  know,"  Peggy  demurred. 
"  Some  of  'em  does  lots  o'  good " 

"Aw!"  he  cried,  desperately,  "what  does 
it  amount  to  ?  A  drop  in  the  bucket !  They 
don't  miss  it,  and  how  many  does  it  help  ? 
If  they  did  even  half  what  they  could,  the 
world  would  be  a  different  place  to  live  in." 

"Sure  that's  true  of  more  than   million- 


YO U  MEET  PEGG  Y  35 

aires,"  observed  Peggy,  sagely.  "  But  every- 
body wants  to  put  it  up  to  Mr.  Carneejie. 
Whatd'jo*  do?" 

He  laughed,  bitterly.  "  Me  ?  What  could 
/do?  I'm  broke!" 

"Ye've  got  that  cent  I  didn't  1'ave  ye 
spend  fer  a  paper,"  she  reminded. 

He  thought  she  was  jesting.  "  What  could 
I  do  with  a  cent  ?  " 

"  Did  ye  ever  try  ?  " 

"  No." 

"Well,  ye've  a  lot  to  learn.  I  usen't  to 
know,  nayther.  But  wan  day  I  seen  a  little 
piece  in  the  paper  about  iverybody  wantin' 
to  be  rich  so  they  could  do  more  good ;  but 
nobody  ought  to  think  how  much  good  he'd 
do  wid  a  lot  o'  money  that  wasn't  sure  he 
was  doin'  the  most  he  could  wid  what  he's 
got.  '  I  bet  that  manes  me/  I  said  to  meself. 
I  couldn*  give  much,  but  whin  I  got  to  fig- 
gerin'  I  seen  that  I  could  give  a  cint  a  day. 
So  I  give  wan,  rain  er  shine.  O'  course,  the 
cent  don't  do  much — it's  what  comes  o' 
lookin'  fer  some  wan,  each  day,  that  nades 
you  an'  the  little  you  kin  do.  Try  it  to-day, 
an'  see.  And  now  let's  git  back  to  huntin' 
a  job — wan  wheer  they  kin  tell  by  lookin'  at 
ye  the  kind  of  a  fella  ye  are." 


IV 

In  Which  the  Hero  Gets  a  Job 

SO  absorbed  was  Peggy  in  what  the 
Ads.  offered  that  she  did  not  hear  an 
auto  horn  honk  sharply,  nor  look  up 
until  called  by  name.  Then  she  started 
guiltily.  Confronting  her,  amusement 
twinkling  in  his  deep-set  small  blue  eyes, 
was  a  large-framed,  heavily-built  man  of 
about  sixty-five — a  man  who  expressed  au- 
thority in  his  every  line  and  movement. 

"  '  News  Emporium/  "  he  said,  reading 
the  sign  above  Peggy's  head.  "  This  place 
looks  to  me  more  like  a  reading  room. 
Nothing  for  sale,  I  suppose  ?  " 

"  I'm  sorry,"  Peggy  apologized.  "  I  didn' 
hear  you.  We  was  huntin'  a  job." 

"Who  for?" 

"  Fer  me  friend,  here." 

The  older  man  turned  to  the  young  one. 
"  What  can  you  do  ?  "  he  asked.  The  joking 
familiarity  of  his  tone  in  speaking  to  Peggy 
changed  sharply  when  he  addressed  the  boy. 
This  was  a  man  who,  in  his  dealings  with  all 
the  world,  stood  almost  defiantly  on  the 
36 


77/2?  HERO  GETS  A  JOB         37 

ground  where  he  demanded  that  they  show 
him  reason  why  he  should  consider  their  ex- 
istence. 

"  I'm  an  accountant,"  the  youth  answered. 
"I've  had  most  of  my  experience  in  a  bank. 
But  I'm  willing  to  do  anything." 

The  older  man  looked  him  over — and,  it 
seemed,  through  and  through — shrewdly. 
"  Expert  accountants  need  not  be  '  willing  to 
do  anything,  '"he  observed,  dryly.  "  And 
they  don't  usually  look  for  work  on  Halsted 
Street." 

The  boy  flushed.  "  I'm  not  expert,"  he 
said.  "  I  live  over  here  because  it  is  cheap. 
And  I've  got  to  be  willing  to  do  anything." 

As  if  he  had  not  even  heard  the  boy's  de- 
fense, the  man  continued,  looking  him  in  the 
eye :  "  It  isn't  drink."  He  was  not  ques- 
tioning ;  he  was  announcing  his  own  conclu- 
sions which  were  seldom  at  fault ;  so  seldom 
that  he  was  what  he  was :  a  commander  of 
men. 

"  No,  sir,"  the  youth  declared,  curtly. 

"  Nor  dope,"  the  examiner  continued,  still 
speaking  as  to  himself.  "  Dishonesty  ?  Hm  ! 
Do  you  stand  for  him,  Peggy  ?  " 

"  Sure  I  do  !  "  she  cried. 

"  She  doesn't  know  anything  about  me," 
the  boy  interposed,  "  except  what  I've  told 


38    THE  PENNY  PHILANTHROPIST 

her — and  that  isn't  much.  I've  never  ex- 
changed a  dozen  sentences  with  her  until 
just  now." 

The  man  made  a  fumbling  motion  as  if  to 
feel  in  his  pockets  for  card  and  pencil ;  but 
his  overcoat  was  buttoned.  He  was  not  one 
to  waste  energy. 

"  Give  me  a  piece  of  paper  and  a  pencil, 
Peggy,"  he  commanded. 

Peggy  tore  a  strip  of  margin  from  the 
Help  Wanted  sheet ;  the  youth  supplied  a 
pencil  with  which  the  man  made  a  few 
scrawls. 

"  Take  this  out  to  the  head  bookkeeper's 
office  at  my  plant  about  eight  o'clock,"  he 
said,  handing  the  strip  of  paper  to  the  boy. 
"  No  use  going  earlier — I'm  the  only  person 
that  gets  there  as  early  as  this.  Now, 
Peggy,  where  are  my  papers  ?  " 

There  was  that  in  the  man's  tone  which 
dismissed  the  boy  more  effectually  than 
many  another  could  have  done  it  with  sharp- 
spoken  command. 

"  I  thank  you,  sir,"  the  boy  began.  But 
the  man  made  a  gesture  of  impatience. 

When  the  youth  was  out  of  ear-shot, 
though,  Peggy  spoke  for  him — and  for  her- 
self. She  had  been  watching  the  transaction 
intently,  little  disturbed  or  distracted  by  her 


THE  HERO  GETS  A  JOB         39 

few  earliest  customers  who  threw  their  cop- 
pers on  her  stand  and  snatched  up  the 
papers  they  wanted. 

"  I  guess,"  she  observed,  sagely,  "  ye  have 
yer  own  fun — after  all." 

He  knew  what  she  meant,  and  smiled. 
One  of  the  things  about  Peggy  that  had 
kept  this  man  her  delighted  customer  since 
she  had  been  in  business — kept  him  coming 
to  her  whenever  he  could  for  his  papers,  not 
at  all  in  a  benevolent  spirit,  but  because  she 
amused  and  interested  him — was  her  com- 
plete absence  of  undue  regard  for  his  wealth. 
There  were  not  many  persons  in  the  world 
whose  feeling  for  him  had  nothing  whatever 
to  do  with  his  power  ;  this  child  was  one  of 
the  few.  Sometimes  he  inclined  to  think  she 
was  the  only  one  he  knew.  When  his  soul 
was  sour  with  sycophancy,  he  thought  of 
Peggy  as  a  stifling  man  thinks  of  a  cool 
-breeze :  of  Peggy,  to  whom  no  one  was 
anything  except  as  she  saw  him,  and  who 
had  a  frank,  merry  preference  for  her  own 
life  as  compared  with  what  she  surmised  his 
to  be. 

"  Don't  stop  feeling  sorry  for  me,"  he 
answered.  "  I  don't  have  half  as  much  as 
you  do.  You  think  it's  fun  for  me  to  be 
able  to  scratch  a  few  words  on  a  bit  of  paper 


40   THE  PENNY  PHILANTHROPIST 

and  give  a  fellow  what  he  wants.  Isn't  that 
it?" 

She  nodded. 

"  I  used  to  think  it  would  be  a  great  feel- 
ing— when  I  was  chasing  it ;  but  hardly  any- 
thing's  a  great  feeling  when  you've  caught 
up  with  it,  Peg." 

She  laughed  up  at  him  roguishly.  "Then 
why  d'  ye  run  so  hard  ?  "  she  teased. 

Why,  indeed  ?  He  shook  his  head.  "  It 
gets  to  be  a  habit,"  he  said,  more  to  himself, 
reflectively,  than,  in  explanation  to  her. 
"  Like  automobile  speeding :  you  don't  care 
about  being  at  any  place — but  you  want  to 
get  there  quick." 

"  I  know,"  she  agreed,  gravely.  "  That's 
why  I  sold  me  car." 

He  chuckled  with  appreciation  of  her  droll- 
ery. "  Never  let  anything  interfere  with  your 
enjoyment  of  life ;  do  you,  Peg  ?  How's  the 
penny  philanthropy  coming  on  ?  " 

"  Fine  1     Why  don't  ye  try  it  ?  " 

Smiling,  he  shook  his  head.  "  I  couldn't 
make  it  work.  But  I'll  tell  you  what  I 
thought  of :  I'll  give  you  a  dollar  a  day  to 
give  for  me." 

"What  d'  ye  want  to  do  that  fer?"  she 
demanded.  "What  good'll  that  be  doin1 
you?" 


THE  HERO  GETS  A  JOB         41 

"  Why,  I'd  have  the  fun  of  knowing  what 
a  lot  of  good  you  were  doing  with  it." 

She  laughed.  "  I've  read  in  the  papers 
that  ye're  dippy  about  secon'-hand  stuff,"  she 
teased,  referring  to  his  mania  for  antiques ; 
"  but,  Ian'  sakes !  I  didn'  know  you  liked 
aven  your  fun  secon'-hand.  Why  don't  ye 
give  it  yerself  ?  " 

"  Because  you  know  how  so  much  better 
than  I  do,"  he  retorted. 

"  Thafs  all  right,"  she  admitted ;  "  but  I 
couldn'  undertake  it.  'Tis  a  rale  raysponsi- 
bility  to  give  away  a  cint  a  day,  an'  give  it 
right.  I  couldn'  tackle  a  dollar.  Why,  all 
the  con  games  on  the  West  Side'd  be  after 
me,  if  they  knew  I  had  that  much  money. 
I'd  have  to  kape  a  private  seckeratary — an'  I 
don't  keer  fer  them,  knowin'  all  yer  business. 
I  don'  suppose  annybody  ever  asks  you  fer  a 
dollar— do  they  ?  " 

"  Hardly  ever.  Usually  for  a  college  or  a 
hospital  or  a  library,  or  else  for  a  chicken 
farm  or  a  parlour  organ  or  a  musical  educa- 
tion." 

"  An*  you  tell  yer  seckeratary  to  send  'em 
the  college  er  else  write  'em  that  yer  supply 
o'  parlour  organs  has  gave  out  ?  " 

"  That's  it.  I  believe  you  used  to  do  that 
way  yourself — you  seem  to  know  it  so  well." 


42    THE  PENNY  PHILANTHROPIST 

"  I  did,"  she  answered,  unsmilingly  ;  "  an' 
sure,  'tis  no  fun  at  all.  Go  on  wid  it,  if  ye 
gotta  kape  that  seckeratary  busy.  But  why 
don'  ye  try  the  other,  too  ?  I'll  help  ye  all  I 
kin ;  on'y  ye  gotta  swear  to  give  it  every 
day.  If  ye  chate  by  givin'  siven  dollars 
wanst  a  wake,  it's  all  off  betwane  us." 

"I'll  try  it  for  a  week ;  and  I  won't  cheat. 
Now  I  must  get  along.  My  little  girl  is  home, 
and  I'm  going  to  send  her  in  to  see  you — 
maybe  this  morning ;  she's  coming  down, 
presently,  to  pick  me  up  at  the  Works  and 
take  me  down-town." 

"  This's  me  day  at  home,"  Peggy  said. 

He  turned  to  go  back  to  his  car.  A  man 
who  had  come  out  of  Neeley's  a  moment 
before,  and  had  been  standing,  as  if  waiting, 
in  front  of  Martinelli's  door,  stepped  up  and 
spoke  in  a  low  tone,  but  quickly  : 

"  Beg  pardon,  sir." 

"  Well  ?  " 

"  You're  Mr.  Kimbalton  ?  " 

"Yes." 

"  I'm  one  of  Burns'  men.  May  I  speak  to 
you  a  moment — inside  ? " 

"  Come  into  the  news  shop." 

Peggy's  morning  trade  was  not  nearly  so 
brisk  as  that  she  did  in  the  evening  :  busy 
people  slept  late  and  left  a  narrow  margin  of 


THE  HERO  GETS  A  JOB         43 

time  between  bed  and  bench — too  narrow  for 
reading  the  paper.  By  and  by  the  idlers 
would  come  crawling  forth,  sated  with  sleep 
and  looking  for  such  diversion  without  exer- 
tion as  the  day's  news  might  afford.  But 
unless  there  was  some  criminal  case  of  ex- 
treme local  interest,  the  morning  trade  was 
hardly  sufficient  to  get  Peggy  up  so  early 
were  it  not  that  Petie  had  to  be  started  on  his 
round. 

She  was  hopping  from  foot  to  foot  in  the 
effort  to  keep  warm,  when  her  young  man 
reappeared. 

"  Has  he  gone?" 

She  nodded  towards  her  shop.  "  He's  in 
there — talkin'  to  a  man.  I'm  afraid  he's  got 
trouble  at  the  Works." 

"  Trouble  ?  " 

"  Yes ;  ain't  ye  read  about  it  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know  who  he  is — that's  what  I 
came  back  to  find  out.  I  guess  he  thinks 
everybody  knows  him.  And  I  can't  make 
anything  of  this  scrawl  except  '  Give  this 
young  man  a  chance.  O.  K.'  " 

Peggy  looked  at  the  paper  he  handed  her. 
"  Not  O.  K.,"  she  laughed  ;  "A.  K.— Andrew 
Kimbalton." 

The  youth  stared.  "Was  that  Kimbal- 
ton?" 


44    THE  PENNY  PHILANTHROPIST 

"  Yes." 

"  Let's  have  another  look  at  those  Help 
Wanteds,"  he  observed,  dryly.  "  Kimbalton 
is  the  man  I  was  telling  you  about." 

Peggy  gasped.  "  Lan'  sakes !  Well, 
here's  yer  chance  to  git  yer  case  before  him." 

"  That  job' 11  last  about  one  minute,  when 
he  finds  out  who  I  am." 

"  I  don'  belave  that ;  but,  annyway,  ye 
don'  nade  to  fire  ye* self.  " 

"  I  wish  I  hadn't  written  him  those  bitter 
letters,"  the  boy  sighed,  regretfully.  "  But 
maybe  he  didn't  see  them ;  maybe  this  is 
my  chance.  Anyway,  I'm  going  to  try — for 
dad's  sake — and  for  yours/" 

Peggy's  usual  ready  answer  did  not  come 
to  this.  There  was  something  about  this 
youth  that  made  her  self-conscious,  shy.  She 
was  glad  that  Mr.  Kimbalton's  reappearance 
saved  her  the  necessity  of  a  reply. 

Kimbalton  seemed  pleased  to  see  the  youth 
— as  if  his  being  there  were  opportune. 

"  Young  man,"  he  said,  "  do  you  know 
your  way  about  the  city  ?  " 

"  I  can  find  it,  sir." 

"  Then  take  this  note  to  that  address.  If 
the  man  isn't  there,  wait  for  him.  Bring  the 
answer  back  here  to  Peggy's  shop." 

"  Yes,  sir." 


THE  HERO  GETS  A  JOB         45 

The  directions  were  explicit.  The  boy 
took  the  note,  raised  his  hat  deferentially,  and 
hurried  away. 

"Thanks  for  your  hospitality,  Peggy," 
Kimbalton  said,  with  a  preoccupied  air. 
"  And  you  won't  mind,  will  you,  if  some  one 
comes  here  for  the  answer  to  that  note  ?  " 

"Not  at  all.  I  hope  things  ain't  gittin' 
bad  ?  " 

"  Nothing  to  think  about — only  some 
folks  can't  seem  to  realize  that  I  run  my  own 
business.  By  the  way,  what  is  that  young 
man's  name  ?  " 

"  I'll  never  tell  ye,"  Peggy  laughed  ;  "  be- 
cause I  don't  know  it  meself." 


In  Which  Peggy  Rescues  a  Crumpled  Note 

ABOUT  six-thirty,  or  twenty  minutes 
to  seven,  the  factory  girls  began  to 
hurry  by.  Nearly  always  they  were 
sleepy,  and  winter  mornings  they  were  cold. 
Few  of  them  were  dressed  warmly,  and  not 
a  few  were  breakfastless.  Some  stopped  at 
Martinelli's  long  enough  to  swallow  a  cup  of 
coffee.  Some  bought  a  nickel's  worth  of 
bananas  from  a  push-cart,  and  ate  them  as 
they  went.  Only  those  who  had  no  job 
lingered  for  speech  with  Peggy  and  for  a 
look  at  her  free  Help  Wanteds ;  the  others 
hurried  past.  But  Peggy,  who  knew  most 
of  them  and  their  interests,  had  a  way  of 
calling  out  as  they  passed  any  news  item  she 
thought  they  would  be  glad  to  hear,  or  any 
little  bit  of  personal  chaff  that  might  amuse 
them. 

"  Here  y'  are ! "  she  cried,  as  she  caught 
sight  of  two  girls  who  had  spent  the  evening 
before  in  her  shop  and  had  discussed  with 
interest  one  of  the  day's  stories.  "  Here  y' 
are  1  All  about  the  elopin'  hairess  and  the 
46 


A  CRUMPLED  NOTE  47 

chowfear.  Her  pa  ain't  caught  thim  yet. 
Hello,  Katie  !  I  bet  ye're  in  to-day.  Did  ye 
ever,"  to  Levinsky  who  had  reappeared  in 
his  doorway,  "  know  Katie's  a  writer  fer  the 
Tribune  ?  Sure  she  is  !  She  has  somethin' 
in  Laura  Jean's  Bleedin'  Heart  Colyum 
a' most  every  day.  Oh,  say,  Ida  I "  to  a 
swarthy  Jewish  girl,  "  Lillian  Russell's  got  a 
swell  wan  this  mornin' :  How  to  be  a  beauti- 
ful blonde,  though  born  a  brunette — just  think 
elevatin'  thoughts ! " 

As  the  latest  ones  scurrie4  past,  Peggy  be- 
gan to  be  conscious  of  her  hungriness. 

"  Polly  !  "  she  called,  stepping  to  the  shop- 
door,  "  I'm  starvin'.  Have  ye  got  the  coffee 
on?" 

There  was  no  immediate  response  ;  but  in 
a  few  moments  Polly  came  to  the  door.  She 
had  on  a  dress-skirt,  but  clutched  with  one 
hand  a  jacket  about  her  shoulders,  as  if  she 
were  not  fully  dressed.  In  the  other  hand 
she  held  a  creased  black  taffeta  ribbon. 

Polly  was  sixteen,  and  quite  pretty  in  a 
meaningless  sort  of  way.  She  was  larger 
than  Peggy;  her  hair  was  a  rich,  chestnut 
brown  ;  her  eyes  were  decidedly  blue ;  and 
her  features  were  regular.  But  her  expres- 
sion was  petulant ;  traces  of  frequent  sullen- 
ness  lurked  in  the  droop  of  her  eyelids  and  of 


48    THE  PENNY  PHILANTHROPIST 

the  corners  of  her  mouth.  Polly  was  Peggy's 
idol,  and  that  speaks  for  itself. 

"  I  simply  can't  tie  this  nasty  old  string 
into  a  decent  bow  any  more,"  she  said,  fret- 
fully. 

Peggy  looked  critically  at  the  offending 
ribbon.  "  Couldn'  ye  iron  it  ? "  she  sug- 
gested. 

"  Iron  !  "  cried  Polly,  explosively.  "  Why, 
it's  ironed  to  death  now.  That's  what's  the 
matter  with  it.  And  it's  a  measly  little  old 
string,  anyhow  !  I'll  bet  it's  the  littlest  one 
on  any  girl  in  high  school." 

"  I'm  sorry,  lovey,"  Peggy  crooned,  sym- 
pathetically. "  But  you  study  hard,  an'  1'arn 
a  lot ;  an'  whin  ye  git  to  earnin'  big  wages 
wid  all  yer  iducation,  ye  kin  buy  yerself  bows 
that'll  make  ye  look  like  an  avvyation  meet 
— er  the  Wright  Brothers  come  to  town." 

"I  wish  I  was  workin'  now,"  Polly  de- 
clared. "I'm  sick  o'  school.  An*  I  don't 
see  what  good  all  that  x  plus  y  stuff  is  goin' 
to  do  me." 

"  Well,  never  havin'  1'arned  anny  of  it," 
Peggy  went  on,  "  I  can't  say.  But  I  know 
there  ain't  much  kin  be  done  widout  it.  An' 
I  want  you  to  git  on,  Polly  darlin'.  Ye 
wouldn'  wish  to  be  like  me — would  you? 
Ign'rant  an'  showin'  it  in  every  word  I  say." 


A  CRUMPLED  NOTE  49 

"  No,  I  wouldn't,"  Polly  admitted,  frankly. 
"  And  if  you  tried,  and  cared,  you  could  talk 
without  bein'  so  Irish — too  ! " 

Peggy  smiled,  wistfully.  Until  now  she 
had  never  minded  her  brogue.  But  "an  ac- 
countant"— one  who,  doubtless,  knew  much 
of  x  plus  y,  whatever  that  might  be — would 
think  scornfully,  of  course,  of  one  with  her 
uncouth  speech. 

"I'll  be  after  tryin'  harder,"  she  promised. 
"  But  do  put  on  the  coffee,  darlin' — I'm 
passin'  away  wid  hunger  an'  cold." 

Polly  obeyed,  moving  slowly  and  as  if 
deeply  bored.  And  Peggy  sat  down  on  the 
stool  by  her  outdoor  stand  and  huddled  over 
a  copy  of  one  of  the  morning  papers.  She 
was  absorbed  in  some  dramatic  incident  it 
told,  when  the  front  door  at  the  top  of  the 
"  stoop  "  opened,  and  a  girl  came  out,  fol- 
lowed by  sounds  of  angry  altercation. 

"  All  right ! "  the  girl  called  back.  "  That'll 
do.  You  ain't  going  to  lose  any  more  on 
me."  And  she  came  down  the  steps,  hug- 
ging the  'far  edge  as  if  to  avoid  observation 
from  Peggy's  corner.  Reaching  the  foot, 
she  started  past,  walking  quickly.  But  be- 
fore she  had  gone  more  than  a  few  steps, 
Peggy  called  to  her  : 

"  What's  yer  hurry  ?  " 


50    THE  PENNY  PHILANTHROPIST 

Without  stopping,  the  girl  called  back  : 
"  NothinV 

t    "Don't    ye   want    to    look    at  the   Help 
Wanteds?" 

This  girl  lodger  in  one  of  the  tenements 
above  had  been  stopping  regularly,  of  late, 
to  avail  herself  of  Peggy's  free  list  in  her 
hunt  for  work. 

"  No  —  thanks,"  she  answered. 

"Oh!"  cried  Peggy,  delightedly;  "did 
ye  git  somethin'  ?  " 

"  No.     But  I  got  to  go." 

"  All  right  !  "  Peggy  replied,  cheerfully. 
"  Excuse  me  fer  rubberin*.  I  just  thought 
that  maybe,  if  you  wasn't  in  a  hurry,  you'd 
do  me  a  favour." 

"  I'd  like  to,"  the  girl  murmured  ;  "  but 


"  Never  mind  !  "  Peggy  cried.  "  I  had  me 
nerve  to  ask." 

"  Why,  no  you  hadn't  I  "  the  girl  declared. 
"  After  all  the  favours  you've  done  me.  I'd 
like  to  —  what  was  it  you  wanted  ?  " 

"  Jest  to  know  if  you'd  mind  settin'  here 
while  I  snatch  a  cup  o'  coffee.  Polly's 
makin'  it." 

The  girl  hesitated  —  and  yielded.  "  Sure  I 
could  !  I'd  like  to  pay  some  o'  my  debts." 

"  This  ain't  payin'  debts,"  Peggy  demurred. 


A  CRUMPLED  NOTE  51 

"  This's  makin'  wan — for  me.  There  ain't 
likely  to  be  anny  wan  comin'  by,  but  if  ye'll 
just  kape  yer  eye  on  me  stock — ye  ain't  had 
breakfast  yet,  have  ye  ?  " 

The  girl  turned  away  sharply.  "  I  see," 
she  said.  "  I  might  have  known  it  was  that. 
No,  thanks.  I'm  out  of  a  job ;  but  I  ain't 
takin'  charity." 

"  Oh,  go  on !  "  Peggy  cried.  "  I  do  nade 
the  stall  minded  ;  an'  if  I  didn't  I'd  on'y  be 
doin'  what  you'd  do  fer  me  if  things  was  the 
other  way  about.  Lan'  sakes  !  manny's  the 
cup  o'  good  hot  tea  I've  had  give  to  me  in 
this  very  store — in  the  days  whin  I  peddled 
on  the  corner,  an'  got  stiff  wid  the  cold,  an' 
the  cobbler's  wife  used  to  bring  me  in  an* 
thaw  me  out — God  rist  her  soul !  It'd  be  a 
pity  if  I  couldn't  hand  on  the  complymint. 
Set  down,  lovey  !  I  won't  be  gone  more'n 
a  minute.  An'  while  ye' re  mindin'  the  impo- 
rium,  ye  kin  be  radein'  annything  ye  see. 
Rade  about  that  poor  girl  that  took  herself 
off,  thinkin'  there  was  no  wan  to  help  her ;  an* 
all  the  time  the  town  was  full  o'  thim  that'd 
been  glad  enough  to  do  it  if  they'd  on'y 
known." 

"  That's  what  they  always  say,"  the  girl 
retorted,  bitterly,  "  when  they're  sure  there 
ain't  no  danger  anybody'll  call  their  bluff." 


52    THE  PENNY  PHILANTHROPIST 

"  Oh,  pshaw ! "_  Peggy  remonstrated. 
"There's  heaps  of  folks  that  want  to  be 
kind — on'y  they  don't  know  how.  You  don't 
want  to  git  to  thinkin'  that  there  ain't — like 
she  did,  poor  thing  1  You  know  what  I  can't 
ever  help  thinkin'  whin  I  rade  things  like 
that  ?  That  if  them  that  goes — like  her,  you 
know — had  on'y  just  of  waited  ever  so  little 
longer,  they  wouldn't  have  done  it.  If  they 
could  on'y  of  had  some  wan  to  talk  things 
over  wid — some  wan  that  wouldn'  ack  crazy, 
but'd  understand." 

The  girl  sneered.  "  A  grand  chance ! 
Where  would  you  find  anybody  like  that  ?  " 

Peggy  looked  thoughtful.  "  Why,  there' d 
be  some  wan,  surely,"  she  said,  slowly. 

"  Well,  who  ?  Who'd  you  go  to  before 
you'd  do  it  ?  " 

Peggy  was  unable  to  answer. 

"That's  it!"  the  girl  went  on.  "There 
airit  any  one!  There  ain't  nobody  alive, 
that  I  ever  heard  of,  whose  love  of  hard- 
pressed  folks  you  could  be  sure  enough  of  to 
go  to  'em  and  say  you  was  in  despair.  Ain't 
it  queer  that,  with  all  the  millions  and  mil- 
lions some  people  give  to  charity,  there 
wouldn't  be  any  one  that'd  give  just  love — 
enough  love  so  no  one  could  ever  doubt  it  ?  " 

"  My  Ian' ! "  cried  Peggy,  her  eyes  shining 


A  CRUMPLED  NOTE  53 

with  the  vision  she  was  seeing.  "  Wouldn' 
that  be  a  wonderful  thing  fer  some  wan  to 
be  ?  You  ought  to  tell  that  to  everybody  ye 
meet,  till  ye  see  can't  you  maybe  find  the 
wan  that'll  try  to  be  it.  An'  while  ye' re 
lookin'  fer  that  wan,  Alma  dear,  if  you  should 
— hear  of  anny  girl  that's  thinkin*  of  givin' 
up  the  fight — wan  way  or  the  other — won't 
ye  beg  her  not  to  do  it  till  she's  come  to  me. 
I  dunno  what  I  kin  do — I'm  so  little  an'  ig- 
norunt — but  I  could  win'  my  arms  around 
her — like  this  " — she  threw  her  arms  about 
Alma,  who  was  crying  in  long,  shuddering 
sobs,  and  held  her  tight — "  an'  beg  her  to  try 
just  wanst  more — fer  my  sake.  Because  it 
might  be  me  that  was  meant  to  help  her,  an' 
I  must  have  me  chanst." 

Peggy  knew  by  the  way  the  girl  clutched 
her  that  she  was  getting  her  chance.  The 
crumpled  note  that  was  thrust  into  her  hand 
only  confirmed  what  she  had  divined :  it  was 
the  note  that  was  to  have  been  found — after- 
wards ! 

Peggy  had  fought  hard  for  that  note  :  her 
every  sense  was  trained  to  the  signs  of  des- 
pondency, and  she  knew  almost  to  a  cer- 
tainty when  it  had  reached  its  last  ditch. 
She  was  a  fair  spent  little  victor  when  she 
ran  in  to  bring  a  cup  of  coffee  out  to  Alma 


54    THE  PENNY  PHILANTHROPIST 

who  insisted — with  a  bravery  Peggy  was  far 
too  wise  not  to  respect — on  keeping  to  her 
promise  and  minding  the  stall  while  Peggy 
ate ;  even  though  she  knew,  now,  the  loving 
subterfuge  this  plea  had  been. 


VI 

In  Which  the  Plot  Thickens 

IT  was  nearing  ten  o'clock.  Polly  and 
Petie  were  in  school  and  Alma  was 
asleep  in  Peggy's  bed  where  she  had 
been  persuaded  to  lie  down  and  rest  before 
going  after  the  job  Peggy  was  so  sure  was 
awaiting  her.  Peggy  was  sitting  inside  her 
wee  shop,  for  purchasers  who  came  late  in 
the  day  were  not  in  a  hurry  and  so  not  averse 
to  coming  into  the  "  imporium." 

A  big  limousine  stopped  at  the  curb,  and 
a  young  girl  got  out.  She  was  a  sweet,  win- 
some-looking girl,  probably  twenty-one  years 
old,  and  simply  dressed  in  a  dark  blue  serge 
suit  and  a  jaunty  little  high-crowned  hat  of 
black  beaver,  untrimmed  except  with  a  stiff 
little  grosgrain  ribbon  bow. 

She  was  Anne  Kimbalton,  the  motherless 
only  child  of  Andrew  Kimbalton  who  had 
married  in  his  late  forties  after  a  long  bache- 
lorhood of  devotion  to  business  and  to  his 
widowed  mother  and  to  the  collection  of  an- 
tiques. 

The  girl  had  been  away  from  Chicago  most 
55 


56  THE  PENNY  PHILANTHROPIST 

of  her  life :  winters  in  kindlier  climes,  schools 
in  the  East,  long  tours  in  Europe.  Realiza- 
tion of  her  father's  loneliness  and  of  his  need 
of  her  had  come  to  her  only  recently  with 
the  deepening  of  her  nature  from  child  to 
woman  by  the  sorrow  of  her  mother's  death 
and  the  poignant  hurt  of  a  love  affair  whose 
hero  had  turned  out  to  be  a  caddish  fortune- 
hunter.  She  was  trying,  now,  to  make  up 
for  long,  lost  years,  by  entering  into  her  fa- 
ther's life  in  the  fullest  possible  companion- 
ship. And  he,  rather  sorry  than  otherwise  for 
his  girl  in  view  of  the  burden  of  wealth  to 
devolve  upon  her,  and  hopeful  that  she  might 
be  better  equipped  than  he  for  giving  it 
away,  was  trying  to  give  her  what  training 
he  could  in  the  handling  of  great  affairs. 

Many  civilizations  had  lent  their  gentlest 
graces  to  the  girl,  but  the  prettiest  manners 
she  had  were  those  that  no  training  can  give ; 
they  came  from  a  heart  sincerely  without  pat- 
ronage. Nor  would  the  miracle  of  this  ever 
be  explicable.  Some  people  are  born  with 
that  great  gift.  I  doubt  if  it  is  ever  acquired. 

"Father  telephoned  to  me,"  Anne  Kim- 
balton  explained  to  Peggy  when  she  had  told 
who  she  was,  "  and  asked  me  to  meet  him 
here  instead  of  going  down  to  the  Works. 
He  says  you've  got  him  started  on  a  dollar- 


THE  PLOT  THICKENS  57 

a-day  scheme,  and  that  I'd  better  ask  you 
about  it  and  see  if  I  can't  try  it  too.  But, 
dear  me  !  I'm  too  timid  to  walk  up  to  peo- 
ple and  hand  them  a  dollar — for  fear  they 
say :  '  How  dare  you  ! ' 

Peggy  laughed  hilariously.  "  How  funny 
ye  are  !  "  she  cried  wiping  her  eyes.  "  I  kin 
see  ye  now,  in  me  min's  eye,  handin'  yer  dol- 
lar to  Mrs.  Hetty  Grane.  On'y  I  kin  see  her 
takin'  it  1 " 

There  was  no  superiority  in  her  laughter ; 
just  an  overflowing  mirthfulness  in  which 
Anne  Kimbalton  could  not  help  joining  till 
her  eyes,  too,  were  tear-wet ;  for  Peggy  mim- 
icked excruciatingly  what  she  thought 
might  be  the  pleased  manner  of  Mrs.  Green. 

"  It's  a  shame,"  she  gasped,  when  she 
could  command  speech  at  all,  "  to  make  fun 
o'  you  like  that — an'  you  wid  such  swate  in- 
tintions.  But,  Ian'  sakes,  lovey !  that  ain't  no 
way  to  do." 

"  I  know  it  isn't,"  Anne  replied,  humbly. 
"  But  how  am  /  to  find  people  who  need  a 
dollar?" 

"Why  d'  ye  begin  so  extra vagint?" 
Peggy  demanded.  "Why  don't  ye  start  wid 
a  pinny  ?  " 

"  Oh,  how  would  that  look  ?  And  we  with 
so  much,"  Anne  remonstrated. 


58    THE  PENNY  PHILANTHROPIST 

"  Never  min' !  If  ye've  get  much  money, 
ye  ain't  got  much  sinse — I  mane  of  that 
pertic'lar  kind.  If  I  was  you  I  wouldn'  try 
givin'  away  dollars  until  I'd  1'arned  all  there 
is  to  know  about  givin'  away  cints.  Nobody 
ought  to.  That's  the  rayson  so  manny  folks 
makes  failures  o'  their  philant'ropy :  they 
begin  late,  an'  sudden,  an'  they  want  to 
begin  big.  Ye  can't.  Now,  you  start  wid  a 
pinny,  dear.  'Tis  enough  raysponsibility  fer 
you  at  prisint.  People  that  nade  a  pinny  's 
more  approachable — ye  kin  fin'  out  more 
about  thim.  Then  mebbe  ye  kin  see  where 
ye  could  spind  a  dollar." 

"  Would  you  let  me  come  here,  sometimes, 
and  see  what  you  do  with  your  pennies? 
I'm  sure  I  shouldn't  know  how  to  begin." 

"  Sure  ye  kin  come !  Come  anny  time  ye 
like." 

"  What's  a  good  time  to  come?  " 

Peggy  considered.  "  Well,  avenin's  is  the 
best  fer  me ;  but  afternoons  is  pritty  good, 
too ;  an',  I  mus'  say,  mornin's  ain't  to  be 
sneezed  at.  I  guess  it's  like  this  :  there  ain't 
no  time  o'  day  er  night  whin  ye  can't  fin' 
some  wan  that  nades  ye — if  ye  know  where 
to  look.  But  git  out  o'  that  thing,"  pointing 
to  the  limousine,  "  a  block  off  ;  er  ye'll  niver 
git  on  at  all  wid  yer  pinny." 


THE  PLOT  THICKENS  59 

"  I  will,"  Anne  promised,  eagerly. 

"  My  goodness !  "  Peggy  declared,  laugh- 
ing. "Tis  the  grand  adopter  I'm  gittin' 
to  be  :  ye're  the  secon'  wan  I've  took  under 
me  wing  this  mornin'  1  Maybe  I  ought  to 
tell  you  a  little  about  the  other  wan :  she  was 
discouraged." 

Peggy  felt  in  her  jacket  pockets  and 
brought  out  the  crumpled  note.  "  Rade 
that,"  she  said. 

Anne  took  in  its  brief  message  at  a  glance. 
"Where  did  you  get  it?"  she  asked,  in  an 
awed  tone. 

Peggy  told  her,  speaking  low,  so  that  by 
no  chance  might  Alma  overhear ;  and  Anne 
listened,  breathlessly.  She  had  read  moving 
things,  and  cried  over  them — as  people  must 
when  they  are  too  remote  from  real  life  to 
feel  its  clutch  upon  their  hearts.  But  this  ! 
This  girl  that  but  for  sweet  Peggy  would 
now  have  been  a  bit  of  drift  on  the  bleak 
lakeshore  or  in  the  ghastly  morgue — this  girl 
was  sleeping  so  close  that  they  were  talking 
in  subdued  tones  so  as  not  to  disturb  her. 

"  Have  ye  anny  idea  what  it  manes,  lovey," 
Peggy  entreated,  pleadingly,  "  to  earn  six  a 
wake,  aven  ?  Where  a  girl  mus'  crawl  to 
slape,  and  where  she  mus'  pick  up  her  few 
bites  of  chape  food,  an'  what  there  is  fer  her 


60    THE  PENNY  PHILANTHROPIST 

to  do  in  the  long  avenin's  whin  her  heart  is 
starvin'  fer  a  bit  o'  pleasure?  An'  then  kin 
ye  think  what  it  mus'  be  whin1  a  girl  like 
Alma  have  got  no  job  at  all  ?  " 

"  Oh,  do  you  think,"  Anne  questioned, 
earnestly,  "  that  I  can  help  her — that  she'll 
let  me?" 

"  I  think,"  Peggy  answered,  "  that  ye  kin 
help  wan  another  a  lot — if  ye'll  just  begin 
right  1 " 

The  girls  were  talking  when  the  young 
man  came  back  with  the  answer  to  the  note 
he  had  carried.  When  he  saw  Anne,  he 
backed  away  from  the  door  and  stepped  over 
towards  Martinelli's.  As  he  did  so,  two 
men  came  out  of  Neeley's.  One  was  a  man 
of  stocky  build,  well  dressed  as  the  Madison 
Street  clothiers  dress  a  man.  The  other  was 
an  Italian,  evidently  a  labourer;  he  wore 
brown  corduroy  pants,  and  a  shabby  cloth 
coat  the  collar  of  which  was  turned  up  about 
his  neck.  It  appeared  as  if  the  Italian  had 
been  sent  on  some  errand  by  the  other ;  he 
started  north,  but  paused  irresolutely  in 
front  of  Peggy's. 

"Go  on  !"  the  other  cried.  "What're 
you  waitin'  fer  ?  " 

"  See  penny  girl,"  the  Italian  muttered  ; 
but  went  on. 


THE  PLOT  THICKENS  61 

When  he  was  gone,  the  man  who  had 
ordered  him  on  spoke  to  the  youth. 

"  Good-morning,  Oliphant ;  haven't  seen 
much  of  you  for  a  day  or  two.  Anything 
doing?" 

Oliphant  smiled.  "  Yes,"  he  said  ;  "  don't 
laugh.  I've  got  a  job — with  Kimbalton." 

The  man  stared.  "  Ye're  kiddin',"  he  de- 
clared. 

"  No,  I'm  not.  But  he  doesn't  know  who 
I  am.  He  gave  me  the  job  himself — here — 
this  morning.  I've  just  been  on  an  errand 
for  him — taken  a  note — and  when  I've  deliv- 
ered the  answer,  I'm  to  go  to  his  Works  and 
hand  that  to  the  head  bookkeeper."  He 
showed  the  scrap  of  paper  with  Kimbalton's 
scrawl. 

The  man  looked  at  it  as  if  fascinated. 
"  That  gives  you  a  great  chance,  don't  it  ?  " 
he  asked,  eyeing  Oliphant  narrowly. 

"  I  don't  know  ;  but  I  hope  so,"  the  boy 
answered.  "  If  I  can  make  good  there, 
maybe  he'll  listen  to  me." 

The  man  laughed.     "  And  if  he  don't  ?  " 

"Well,  I  won't  be  any  worse  off;  and  I 
shall  know  whether  he  can  be  appealed  to  for 
a  square  deal." 

"  Hm.  When  you're  fired,  come  around 
and  see  me.  I  think  I  know  of  something 


62    THE  PENNY  PHILANTHROPIST 

that  might  interest  you.  Meanwhile,  come 
in  and  have  a  drink." 

"  Thanks,  but  I'd  rather  not." 

"  A  cup  o'  coffee,  then,  and  a  cigar  ?  You 
can  watch  for  your  man  from  Martinelli's. 
That's  Kimbalton's  car,  ain't  it?" 

"  I  don't  know." 

"  A  girl  got  out  of  it  and  went  into  Peg's. 
I  think  she  is  Kimbalton's  daughter.  Is  he 
comin'  here  fer  the  answer  to  the  note  you 
took?" 

"  I  don't  know." 

"  I  suppose  it'd  be  askiri!  to  inquire  where 
you  was  sent?  "  The  tone  in  which  this  was 
said  was  a  dare ;  but  Tom  Oliphant  didn't 
take  it. 

"  I  guess  it's  kind  of  confidential,  or  they'd 
have  telephoned  or  got  word  some  other 
way,"  he  answered. 

"  Oh,  all  right." 

They  were  in  Martinelli's,  now,  sitting  on 
stools  well  back  towards  the  end  of  the 
counter.  Suddenly,  the  face  of  Tom  Oli- 
phant's  companion  broke  into  a  sardonic 
smile.  He  seemed  absorbed  in  something  he 
was  watching  in  the  street.  Tom  interest- 
edly followed  the  direction  of  his  gaze. 

A  heavily-built,  sandy-complexioned  man, 
who  had  been  walking  briskly  south  on  Hal- 


THE  PLOT  THICKENS  63 

sted  Street,  stopped  in  front  of  Peggy's 
empty  outdoor  stand,  then  stepped  to  the 
door  of  the  "  imporium." 

"  See  that  man  ? "  Tom's  lodging-house  ac- 
quaintance asked.  "  That's  Burns,  the  great 
detective." 

Tom  stared  in  wide-eyed  interest.  "  I 
wonder  what  he's  doing  here  ? "  he  said. 
Burns  had  gone  into  Peggy's  shop. 

"  That's  more  than  you'll  ever  know — un- 
less he  tells  you.  He's  a  deep  one.  And  he 
never  does  any  of  the  things  anybody'd  think 
he'd  do.  You  know  Kimbalton's  got  trouble 
at  his  place — steel  workers  and  machinery 
erectors.  Men  puttin'  up  the  new  buildin* 
won't  let  the  millwrights  set  up  the  machinery 
they  made  ;  millwrights  won't  let  steel  work- 
ers set  it  up — deadlock — buildin's  been  dyna- 
mited twice.  Burns  is  supposed  to  be  on  the 
job  fer  Kimbalton — old  man's  crazy  at  bein' 
opposed — ain't  used  to  it.  Last  I  heard  was, 
Burns  had  traced  some  o'  the  trouble  to 
Neeley's  saloon.  Now  here  he  comes  trottin' 
down  to  the  neighbourhood,  ca'm  an'  casual, 
just  where  you'd  think  he  wouldn't  show  him- 
self. He's  a  deep  guy  ;  can't  anybody  ever 
tell  what  hJs  up  to." 

Then  Tom  saw  his  man — the  one  to  whom 
he  was  to  return  the  answer.  He  started  up 


64    THE  PENNY  PHILANTHROPIST 

hastily.  "  I've  got  to  go,"  he  said.  "  Ex- 
cuse me,  Mr.  McNabb." 

"  I'm  through,"  McNabb  said ;  and  went 
out  at  Tom's  heels. 

"  All  right,  Oliphant,"  he  called  to  Tom, 
when  he  had  got  outside.  "  I'll  see  you  this 
evening." 

Tom  handed  over  his  message.  The  man 
who  took  it  looked  from  Tom  to  McNabb. 

"  That'll  do,"  he  said,  curtly. 

Tom  stepped  aside,  and  in  an  instant  Burns 
came  out  of  Peggy's,  apparently  absorbed  in 
a  "  noon  extra  "  he  had  bought. 

His  man  approached  him.  Whatever 
their  game  was,  it  was  causing  profound  ex- 
citement in  Neeley's  saloon. 

"  Where  did  Mr.  Kimbalton  pick  up  that 
fellow  Oliphant?  "  he  asked. 

"  Oliphant  ?  " 

"  The  fellow  who  carried  the  note  for  us." 

"I  don't  know.  Oliphant!  That's  the 
name  of  a  youngster,  son  of  a  down-state 
bank  cashier  who  was  jailed,  that's  been  try- 
ing to  see  Kimbalton  to  get  his  intercession 
— wrote  some  threatening  letters,  when  he 
couldn't  see  him.  And  of  course  McNabb'd 
get  friendly  with  a  boy  that  had  it  in  for 
Kimbalton.  He'll  use  him,  too.  Better 
keep  your  eye  on  Oliphant." 


THE  PLOT  THICKENS  65 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"  Well,  I  guess  they've  all  seen  me — I  may 
as  well  go  on." 

"And  I'll  go  in  here  and  get  a  cup  o' 
coffee  while  I  wait  for  Mr.  Kimbalton." 

When  the  street  in  front  of  Peggy's  was 
clear,  Tom  Oliphant  came  back.  The  lim- 
ousine still  stood  at  the  curb,  and  he  was 
loath  to  go  into  the  shop.  Peggy  saw  him, 
divined  his  reluctance,  and  came  to  the  door. 

"  I'm  off  for  the  job,"  he  said,  smiling. 

"  I  told  ye  it  was  yer  lucky  day,"  she  an- 
swered. "  I  s'pose,"  she  went  on,  guilefully, 
"ye'll  be  usin'  yer  noon  hour  to  write  the 
gran'  news  to  yer  ma." 

He  looked  embarrassed  and  conscience- 
smitten. 

"  I  haven't  been  writing  so  very  much, 
lately.  You  see,  I  had  nothing  good  to  tell 
her,  so  I — didn't  write." 

"  Nothin'  good  to  tell  yer  mother  ?  "  cried 
Peggy,  in  comical  despair.  "  Don't  ye  love 
her?" 

"  Of  course  I  love  her  ! "  he  replied,  indig- 
nantly. 

"  Well,  then  !  What  could  ye  relate  that'd 
plaze  her  as  much  as  that?  What  did  ye 
think  she'd  be  wishin'  to  know  ?  The  state 
o'  the  markets  ?  My  Ian'  !  Why  do  God 


make  min  widout  anny  sinse  at  all  ?  Sure 
they  could  use  a  little,  where  they  nade  so 
much  !  Now  you  wait  while  I  git  ye  a  pos'- 
card — a  nice  pos'-card  that  the  letter-carrier 
kin  rade — an'  you  tell  her  you've  got  a  gran' 
job  and  sind  her  the  very  most  love  that  iver 
a  bye  sint  his  mother " 

"  I  don't  know,"  he  objected,  "  whether  I've 
got  a  grand  job  or  not.  I'd  better  wait  and 
see." 

"  Wait  fer  nothin'  ! "  she  cried.  "  Tell  'er 
the  rist  of  it  annyway." 

She  hurried  into  the  shop,  made  apologies 
to  Anne,  and  reemerged  with  her  post-card. 
This  was  a  favourite  way  for  her  daily  penny 
to  be  invested.  No  one  would  ever  know 
how  many  anxious  home-folks  had  heard,  at 
last,  on  Peggy's  post-cards. 

"  An'  ye'll  sure  mail  it,  won't  ye  ? "  she 
entreated,  as  she  watched  him  sign  it. 
"  Sometimes  I  mistrust  they  don't.  It's  awful 
hard  fer  some  folks  to  be  fergiven." 

"  I'll  put  your  address  on  it,  so  the  an- 
swer'll  come  here,"  he  said;  "and  then 
you'll  know  !  " 

He  was  adding  this  when  Mr.  Kimbalton 
came.  Burns'  man,  on  the  lookout,  came 
quickly  from  Martinelli's  and  spoke  to  Mr. 
Kimbalton  before  the  magnate  addressed 


THE  PLOT  THICKENS  67 

Peggy  or  Tom.  Kimbalton  showed,  briefly, 
the  chagrin  of  a  man  who,  priding  himself  on 
his  shrewd  knowledge  of  human  nature,  is 
shown  as  having  been  badly  misled. 

"  All  right,"  he  said.  "  I  suppose  Burns 
is  right.  We'll  keep  him  where  we  can 
watch  him.  But  mind  you  do  it !  " 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"  What  have  you  done  with  my  little  girl, 
Peg?" 

Peggy  flushed  guiltily  at  having  been 
caught  neglecting  first  her  business,  and  now 
her  hospitality,  for  this  young  man. 

"  She's  inside." 

But  Anne,  hearing  her  father's  voice,  came 
out. 

"  I've  had  such  a  delightful  call,"  she  be- 
gan. 

"Tell  me  about  it  on  the  way  down-town," 
her  father  said. 

Tom  Oliphant  raised  his  hat  deferentially. 

"  I'm  on  my  way  to  the  Works,  sir,"  he 
said. 

Kimbalton  looked  at  him  searchingly  ;  and 
the  boy,  thinking  he  knew  why,  quailed. 

"  I'm  afraid,  Peggy,"  Kimbalton  said  to 
her  when  Tom  had  passed  out  of  hearing, 
"that  you  made  a  very  bad  guess  in  that 
young  man." 


VII 

In  Which  Petie  and  Polly  Chiefly  Figure 

PERHAPS  you  think  that  was  an  extra- 
ordinarily eventful  morning  of  which 
I've  told  you.  (It  was  Thursday 
morning,  by  the  way.)  I  don't  say  that  every 
morning  is  quite  as  full  of  episode  for  Peggy. 
But  I  do  say  that  you  should  not  hastily 
discredit  my  account  of  that  morning ;  be- 
cause there  is  a  superabundance  of  material 
for  eventfulness  ever  at  hand  on  Halsted 
Street;  and  "anyway  besides,"  things  are 
always  happening  in  the  vicinity  of  persons 
like  little  Peg.  In  part  she  was  made  by  her 
environment,  but  in  part,  too,  she  recreated 
her  surroundings ;  and  I  am  inclined  to 
believe  that  if  Peg  had  lived  in  Cranford 
(supposing  Peg  could  have  lived  in  Cranford  1) 
there  would  have  been  "  drammer "  in  that 
village. 

On  the  following  (Friday)  evening,  Peggy 
was  summoned  from  the  supper  table  to  go 
to  the  drug  store ;  some  one  wanted  her  on 
the  'phone. 

It  was  a  raw  evening,  and  as  soon  as  the 
68 


PETIE  AND  POLLY  69 

six  o'clock  rush  was  over,  Peggy  had  aban- 
doned outdoor  trade.  When  the  message 
came,  she  and  Polly  and  Petie  were  at  the 
supper  table,  and  from  it  one  or  the  other  of 
them — but  usually  Peggy  and  seldom  Polly 
— jumped  when  the  tinkle  of  the  store-bell 
announced  a  customer. 

I'd  like  you  to  see  that  room  :  Years  ago 
in  Chicago  rank  individualism  reigned  in  the 
matter  of  street  grades.  You  could  dig  your 
lot  as  deep  as  you  liked  and  have  your  side- 
walk at  any  level  your  fancy  dictated. 
People  who  had  a  mile  to  go  walked  two — 
one  mile  up  and  down  stairs.  The  basement 
in  which  Peggy  lived,  and  had  her  "impo- 
rium,"  had  originally  been  three  feet  below 
what  is  now  the  prescribed  street  level.  So 
the  front  room  when  made  into  a  shop  was 
raised  by  the  simple  expedient  of  lifting  the 
floor,  or  building  a  supplemental  one,  to  the 
street  level.  This  gave  the  "  imporium "  a 
"  low-ceiled  "  effect ;  but  made  it  easier  to 
heat  in  winter  and  brought  the  top  shelves 
within  reach  even  of  Peg  if  she  stood  on  a 
soap-box. 

The  kitchen  was  on  the  old  grade — which 
certainly  added  nothing  to  its  healthfulness, 
nor  to  its  warmth  in  winter.  Four  steps  led 
down  to  it  from  the  shop.  On  your  left  as 


yo    THE  PENNY  PHILANTHROPIST 

you  came  down  these  steps  was  the  sink, 
built  against  the  partition  wall ;  then,  a  foot 
or  so  out  from  the  left  wall,  Peggy's  kitchen 
range,  of  goodly  size  and  prosperous  appear- 
ance— for  when  you  live  as  Peggy  lived, 
your  kitchen  stove  is  easily  the  most  impor- 
tant of  all  your  possessions.  Beyond  the 
stove  was  a  cot  bed  where  Petie  slept  at 
night ;  daytimes,  Peggy  kept  it  covered  with 
a  dark-coloured  "  tapestry  "  spread.  Over 
the  bed  was  a  window  into  an  air-shaft  which 
made  a  deep  jog  in  the  room.  Around  the 
corner  of  the  jog  was  a  door  leading  into  that 
one-time  pantry  where  now  Peggy  and  Polly 
slept.  Against  the  rear  wall,  a  cupboard  ; 
against  the  other  side-wall,  a  bureau  ;  in  the 
middle  of  the  room,  an  oak  extension  table 
reduced  to  its  minimum  size.  There  were 
four  oak  dining  chairs  of  the  sort  usually  sold 
with  such  extension  tables  by  the  "  easy-pay- 
ment "  furniture  emporiums  of  the  neighbour- 
hood, and  a  rocking-chair. 

I  want  you  to  do  more  than  see  that  room. 
I  want  you  to  feel  it.  Perhaps  I  shall  be  able 
to  help  you  do  this  as  I  go  on.  That  is  why 
I  ask  you  to  be  patient  about  details. 

At  the  moment  on  that  Friday  evening 
about  seven  o'clock  when  you  make  your 
first  acquaintance  with  Peggy's  kitchen  and 


PETIE  AND  POLLY  71 

living-room,  the  extension  table  was  half  set 
— that  is,  a  red  and  white  cloth  was  spread, 
doubled,  over  one  end  of  it.  The  dishes 
were  few,  and  coarse  ;  but  in  the  cupboard 
were  some  "  best  ones  "  which  Peggy  had 
got  as  premiums.  She  had  no  great  amount 
of  time  for  housewifeliness,  but  she  was  not 
without  her  inclinations  that  way. 

Polly,  at  that  moment  when  I  ask  you 
down  the  four  steps  from  the  shop-level,  was 
making  a  perilous  stack  of  the  supper  dishes, 
preparatory  to  carrying  them  to  the  sink. 
She  was  a  bit  oddly  attired :  hair  very  ob- 
viously done  up  to  its  uttermost,  and  adorned 
with  an  enormous  new  bow  of  black  taffeta 
ribbon — showing  the  effect  of  persistence. 
Her  dress-skirt  looked  as  if  it  might  be  her 
"  good  one "  ;  but  instead  of  a  waist  she 
wore  a  sacque  of  red  eider-down  flannel, 
not  at  all  clean.  Polly  was  going  to  a  dance 
at  one  of  the  near-by  schools  recently  opened 
as  a  Social  Centre  ;  and  her  toilet  was  in  that 
state  of  semi-completeness  in  which  supper 
time  on  Friday  nights  finds  a  majority  of 
schoolgirls. 

Petie,  at  that  same  moment,  was  not  vis- 
ible ;  but  he  was  there.  He  had  crawled 
under  his  cot,  which  was  also  his  cache,  in 
search  of  buried  treasure.  He  came  backing 


72    THE  PENNY  PHILANTHROPIST 

out,  in  Polly's  path,  as  she  started  sinkward 
with  her  stack  of  dishes,  and  only  by  a  mir- 
acle escaped  upsetting  her — for  which  he 
was  scolded  sharply. 

"  You'll  have  to  tell  Peg  I  couldn't  wash 
these — I  haven't  time,"  Polly  said,  when  she 
had  piled  the  last  dish  in  the  sink. 

"  Aw,"  Petie  rejoined,  "  Peg  ought  to 
know  you  wouldn't.  You  never  have  time 
to  do  nothin'  but  wait  on  yerself." 

"  I'll  thank  you  to  mind  yer  own  business," 
commanded  Polly,  scathingly. 

"Ye  needn't  thank  me,"  Petie  retorted, 
"  because  I  ain't  goin'  to  do  it." 

He  drew  a  chair  up  to  the  table  and  started 
to  work.  The  treasures  drawn  from  his 
cache  were  a  handful  of  black  curled  hair 
which  we  hope  was  given  Petie  by  some 
neighbourhood  upholsterer  or  second-hand 
dealer,  and  a  piece  of  milliner's  wire.  Oc- 
casionally, Petie  withdrew  his  chewing-gum 
in  a  long  string,  to  aid  in  the  process  of 
manufacture. 

"  Well,  you  can  stop  mindin'  mine,"  Polly 
declared,  jerking  out  the  lowest  bureau 
drawer  and  fishing  from  its  tumbled  contents 
a  pair  of  party  shoes  with  patent  leather 
vamps  and  dirty  white  kid  uppers.  "  I  have 
awful  little  pleasure,  goodness  knows.  And 


PETIE  AND  POLLY  73 

I'm  not  going  to  be  late  to  this  dance,  just 
for  a  lot  of  dishes." 

She  sat  on  the  floor  to  put  on  her  shoes. 
There  was  a  hole  in  one  stocking,  far  enough 
up  so  that  it  might  show.  Polly  measured 
carefully  to  see  if  it  would,  and  when  she 
found  it  wouldn't,  went  on  with  her  button- 
ing. 

"  I  should  think,"  Petie  observed — unwill- 
ing to  let  the  quarrel  languish,  "  that  you 
could  get  enough  of  school  in  the  daytime, 
without  goin'  back  at  night." 

Polly  jerked  out  the  middle  drawer  and 
brought  forth  a  bright  red  cashmere  waist, 
evidently  brand  new — and  home-made  ! 

"  If  I  didn't  go  there,  where  would  I  go?" 
she  cried,  self-pityingly.  "  Peg  would  have 
a  fit  if  she  knew  I  went  to  a  regular  dance." 

"If  she  knew?"  Petie  echoed,  quickly. 
"  Do  you  ever  ?  " 

"  I  said  she  would  if  I  went,"  Polly  an- 
swered, with  an  air  of  "  hedging."  "  Will 
you  hook  me  ?  " 

She  had  taken  off  her  sacque,  revealing 
for  a  moment  her  highly-improvised  under- 
garments, and  was  now  wriggling  into  her 
new  waist,  which  fastened  in  the  back. 

Petie  looked  up  from  his  mysterious  occu- 
pation. "  Gee  !  "  he  commented,  noting  the 


74    THE  PENNY  PHILANTHROPIST 

sleeves,  ending  above  the  elbows,  "  didn't  ye 
get  the  sleeves  done  ?" 

"That's  all  you  get  for  trying  to  make 
anything  stylish  in  this  house,"  Polly  re- 
torted. "  Hurry  up,  Petie  ;  will  you  ?  " 

Reluctantly  Petie  left  his  work  and  began 
hooking — mischievously  doing  it  as  awk- 
wardly as  he  could.  He  pulled  Polly  around 
from  the  mirror  she  was  facing,  and  headed 
her  towards  the  opposite  side  of  the  room, 
pushing  her  steadily  in  that  direction  until 
he  had  her  "  bump  up  against "  the  sink. 
There  he  turned  her  once  more,  and  con- 
tinued his  strenuous  exertions,  to  the  tune  of 
Polly's  exasperated  protests. 

"  Stand  still !     Can't  you  ?  "  he  cried. 

"  How  can  I,  when  you  push  me?" 

And  so  on,  until  it  was  done,  and  Petie 
had  resumed  his  work. 

"What  are  you  doing,  anyway?"  Polly 
demanded,  suspiciously. 

"  Nothin'  you  could  understand,"  Petie 
answered,  darkly. 

Polly  took  an  imitation  Irish  collar  and  a 
rhinestone  brooch  out  of  the  top  drawer — 
perhaps  you  are  wondering  where  Peg  kept 
her  things  ;  but  then,  Peg  hadn't  many  to 
keep — and  began  arranging  her  "  Dutch 
neck"  garniture. 


PETIE  AND  POLLY  75 

"  More  sleuthing,  I  suppose,"  she  sneered. 

Petie  did  not  care  to  have  his  business  in- 
quired into  ;  what  detective  would  tell  any- 
thing to  a  woman?  So,  to  divert  attention, 
he  observed  : 

"  It's  a  wonder  you  wouldn't  look  at  yer- 
self  in  the  back."  Polly  was  evidently  ad- 
miring what  she  could  see  in  the  mirror. 

"What's  the  matter?"  she  demanded, 
craning. 

"  I  dunno,"  Petie  answered,  "  but  it  looks 
fierce." 

Polly  went  to  the  sink,  snatched  down  the 
small  looking-glass  to  use  for  a  hand-mirror, 
and  saw  that  the  strips  of  white  tape,  to 
which  her  hooks  and  eyes  were  riveted, 
showed  all  the  way  down  her  back :  in  her 
inexperience,  she  had  neglected  to  sew  her 
tapes  to  her  dress  along  their  outer  edge  ; 
and,  the  waist  being  too  narrow  across  the 
back,  it  gaped  distressingly. 

"  Oh,  fer  goodness'  sake ! "  Polly  cried. 
"  It's  a  wonder  Peg  wouldn't  stay  home  and 
help  me.  She  can't  be  all  this  time  telephon- 
ing. Can't  you  put  a  pin  in  it,  Petie  ?  " 

With  an  air  of  resignation  Petie  laid  down 
his  important  and  manly  task  and  directed 
his  attention  to  the  frivolities  of  feminine 
finery.  He  took  the  pin  Polly  handed  him. 


76    THE  PENNY  PHILANTHROPIST 

"Put  it  in  so  it  won't  show,"  Polly 
directed. 

"  You  bet ! "  agreed  Petie,  cheerfully, 
pointing  the  pin  meaningfully  towards  her 
marrow. 

"  Oow ! "  Polly  screamed,  and  made  a 
dart  for  Petie,  to  hit  him. 

Petie  side-stepped  expertly.  "  Well,"  he 
said  in  an  injured  tone,  "  you  told  me  to  put 
it  in  so  it  wouldn't  show." 

With  angry  and  offended  air,  Polly  went 
to  the  window  and  shouted  up  the  air-shaft : 

"  Al-ma  1 " 

Alma's  little  bedroom  was  over  Peggy's 
and  Polly's,  on  the  second  floor. 

Petie  took  advantage  of  her  back  being 
turned  to  try  on  the  false  beard  he  had  been 
making.  He  stepped  to  the  bureau  and 
looked  at  his  disguised  self  in  the  glass. 
The  effect  seemed  to  give  him  complete  sat- 
isfaction. He  took  his  cap  from  his  pocket, 
replaced  it  with  the  beard,  and  glanced  at 
Polly. 

Alma  answered  down  the  shaft :  "  Whoo- 
hoo  ! " 

"Can  you  come  down  a  minute?"  Polly 
called. 

"Sure!" 

The  shop-bell  rang. 


PETIE  AND  POLLY  77 

"Tend  the  store,  will  you?"  Polly  di- 
rected Petie. 

But  it  was  Peggy,  returned.  Petie  sidled 
past  her,  towards  the  door. 

"  Now  you  stop  chasin'  crime  at  nine 
o'clock,  Petie,  like  a  good  boy,"  Peggy 
charged.  "  Ye  have  to  git  up  so  airly." 

"All  right,"  Petie  promised,  with  a  re- 
signed air.  Even  Peg  was  deficient  in  un- 
derstanding of  his  "  profession." 

"  You  were  long  enough  ! "  commented 
Polly,  as  Peggy  came  down  the  steps. 
"  Who  was  it  ?  " 

Peggy  seemed  disinclined  to  answer. 
"  My  1  but  you  look  nice  1 "  she  said,  eva- 
sively. 

"  Would  you  put  in  a  pin  or  two  for  me  ?" 
Polly  asked.  "That  nasty  little  Petie  put 
one  right  into  my  spine." 

"  Boys  ain't  much  at  pinnin',"  Peggy  ex- 
tenuated. 

When  Alma  came  in,  Polly  explained  : 

"  I  wanted  you  to  pin  me,  Alma ;  but 
Peggy's  got  here,  at  last" 

"Annybody'd  think  I'd  been  gon'  a 
wake  !  "  said  Peggy,  rather  crossly. 

"Where  were  you?"  Alma  asked — not 
inquisitively,  but  by  way  of  making  conver- 
sation. 


78    THE  PENNY  PHILANTHROPIST 

"  To  the  drug  store ;  some  wan  tilephoned 
to  me." 

"  '  Some  one,'  "  echoed  Polly,  pinning  on 
her  hat.  "  You're  awful  mysterious  ! " 

"  I  ain't,"  Peggy  retorted.  "  I  don't  know 
who  it  was." 

"  I  bet  you  do,  a' right,"  Polly  said  as  she 
struggled  into  her  coat.  "  But  you  won't 
tell." 

Peggy  ignored  this. 

"  How  d'  ye  like  yer  job  ? "  she  asked 
Alma. 

"  Oh,  it's  all  right.  But  I  have  to  stand 
all  day,  and  my  feet're  killing  me." 

"Well,  now,"  cried  Peggy,  sympathetic- 
ally, "  I  know  how  they  fale.  Set  down  in 
the  rockin'-chair  an*  rest  'em." 

"  I'm  going,"  Polly  announced,  starting  up 
the  stairs. 

"  Have  a  good  time !  "  Peggy  called  after 
her. 

"  I  will ! "  Polly  answered. 

And  no  one  could  doubt  that  she  meant 
to. 


VIII 

In  Which  Anne  Kimbalton  Begins  To  Get 
Acquainted 

ALMA  from  her  rocking-chair  looked 
after  Polly  with  almost  hostile  re- 
sentment. 

"Why  d'  you  spoil  that  girl  so,  Peggy?" 
she  blurted  out. 

"  Why  wouldn'  I  ? "  Peggy  retorted. 
"  Tis  little  enough  I  kin  give  her." 

"  Well,  you  could  give  her  a  fair  chance," 
Alma  argued,  wisely ;  "  and  you're  not  doin' 
it,  when  you  make  things  so  easy  for  her. 
She's  got  to  fight  her  way  in  the  world — 
ain't  she  ?  " 

"  I  s'pose  so ;  but  I'm  hopin'  her  iducation'll 
make  it  aisy  fer  her — that  she  won't  have 
to  go  t'rough  what  I  did.  I  see  so  much, 
Alma,  of  girls  that  ain't  fit  to  fight.  You 
know  how  'tis  :  they  can't  do  nothin'  in  par- 
tic'lar,  an'  nobody'll  pay  'em  enough  to  kape 
alive  on — an'  what  happens  ?  I  want  Polly 
to  stay  at  school  till  she's  1'arned  enough  to 
take  good  care  of  herself.  She'd  1'ave  to- 
morrow, if  I  didn'  humour  her  wid  bits  o'  hair 
79 


8o   THE  PENNY  PHILANTHROPIST 

bows  an*  some  money  now  an'  then  to  go  to 
shows." 

Alma  shook  her  head,  unconvinced.  "  You 
got  a  grand  idea  what  educational  do,"  she 
said.  "  I've  had  as  much  schoolin'  as  Polly's 
likely  to  take — an'  you  can  see  what  a  lot  it 
does  fer  me  1 " 

Peggy  had  taken  off  her  jacket  and  re- 
vealed her  own  "  dressing-up  "  :  a  plaid  flan- 
nel waist  with  a  red  neck-bow.  She  fluffed 
out  her  hair  at  the  sides  and,  still  standing 
before  the  mirror,  experimented  with  a 
weather-beaten  red  millinery  rose  which  she 
stuck  in  her  hair  and  then  hastily,  and  guilt- 
ily, withdrew  because  it  was  so  obvious  an 
attempt  at  a  festive  appearance. 

Alma  could  not  restrain  a  smile  of  under- 
standing ;  and  Peggy,  seeing  this  reflected  in 
the  mirror,  explained  : 

"  I  thought  I'd  fix  up  a  bit — fer  Miss  Kirn- 
balton.  I  ast  her  to  come  over  this  avenin'." 

"  I  think  she'll  like  it,"  Alma  answered,  un- 
deceived. "  Well,  I  guess  I'll  be  goin'." 

"  What  fer  ?  "  Peggy  cried,  in  dismay. 

"  I  don't  think  Miss  Kimbalton's  comin'  to 
see  me,"  Alma  replied,  evasively. 

"  Sure  she  is !  "  Peggy  hastened  to  assure 
her.  "  I  told  her  how  the  girls  that  live  'round 
here  comes  droppin'  in  when  they've  no  better 


ANNE  GETS  ACQUAINTED      81 

place  t'  go,  an'  she  said  she'd  love  to  come 
over  an'  git  acquainted." 

Alma's  eyes  flashed  scorn.  "  Ain't  you  got 
any  sense?"  she  sneered. 

Spiritedly,  Peggy  confronted  her.  "  I  got 
more'n  you  have,  Alma !  I  hope  I  got  better 
sinse  than  to  have  it  in  fer  anny  wan  jest  be- 
cause they're  rich.  She  can't  help  what  she 
is  !  We  gotta  judge  her  by  what  she  wants 
to  be.  Lan'  sakes !  I  bet  them  rich  people 
has  got  their  tribalations — same  as  the  rest 
of  us — an'  why  we  shouldn'  be  kind  to  'em, 
I  niver  could  see  ! " 

"  I'll  bet  she's  comin'  over  here  promisin' 
herself  that  she'll  be  kind  to  us"  Alma 
charged,  bitterly. 

"Well,  what  of  it?"  Peggy  cried.  "She 
don't  want  to  be  no  pauper,  no  more'n  we 
do !  An'  I  guess  we  kin  give  her  as  good  as 
we  git ! " 

Alma  laughed.  "  You  do  put  things  the  fun- 
niest I  ever  heard,"  she  declared ;  but  even 
now,  some  of  her  class  belligerence  was  gone. 

"  I  don't  see  nothin'  funny  about  it,"  Peggy 
retorted.  "  I'm  jist  plain  sorry  fer  that  girl." 

"  Well,  /  ain't  1 "  Alma  declared.  Her  ex- 
periences of  the  past  weeks  had  not  tended  to 
deepen  her  sympathy  for  the  idle,  wasteful 
rich. 


82    THE  PENNY  PHILANTHROPIST 

"  Maybe  you  don't  know  enough  about 
her,"  Peggy  suggested. 

"  I  know  what  I've  read  in  the  papers " 

"  Oh,  I  know !  How  she  lives  in  five 
houses  an*  a  yatch  an'  a  private  car  an'  a  few 
autymobiles ;  an'  is  always  chasin'  from  wan 
to  another  o'  thim  wid  her  tongue  hangin' 
out — like  a  dog  that  runs  under  a  kerridge. 
But  that  don't  kape  her  from  bein'  a  fine 
girl!" 

Alma  shrugged,  disbelievingly.  "What 
does  she  want  of  five  houses,  if  she's  a  fine 
girl?" 

"I  don'  belave  she  does  want  thim,"  Peggy 
retorted. 

"Then  why  does  she  have  them?" 

"  Say,  Alma ! "  Peggy  answered,  a  little 
impatiently ;  "  you  don't  understan'.  Thim 
people  ain't  hardly  freer  to  do  what  they 
want  than  if  they  was  workin'  out  a  thirty- 
day  fine.  Now,  it  seems  to  me  I  niver  seen 
annybody  that  naded  frien'liness  anny  more 
'n  what  that  girl  does.  An'  what  call  have  we 
got  to  be  stuck  up  an'  snippy  to  her  ?  I  say 
she  ought  to  have  her  chance  to  git  on — same 
as  anny  other  girl.  If  she  hands  us  some- 
thin'  we  don'  want,  there  ain't  no  law  that 
kin  make  us  take  it !  Take  a  chance  on  her, 
Alma.  Lots  o'  people  don't  nade  nothin' 


ANNE  GETS  ACQUAINTED      83 

but  a  chance  to  show  what  real  stuff's  in  'em. 
Wait !  Maybe  that's  her  now." 

The  shop-bell  rang,  and  Peggy  ran  up  the 
steps.  A  sour-visaged  woman,  shawl-en- 
veloped, was  laying  down  a  penny  for  an 
evening  paper. 

"  D'  ye  rade  the  comics?"  Peggy  asked 
her,  eagerly. 

"No!" 

"Would  ye  min'  if  I  tore 'em  off?  The 
kids  'round  here  is  crazy  fer  'em." 

The  woman  looked,  for  an  instant,  as  if  she 
were  about  to  refuse.  Then,  trying  to  act 
more  ungracious  than  she  felt,  she  said : 
"  I  don't  care." 

"  Thanks ! "  Peggy  cried. 

And  just  then  an  urchin  came  in — a  very 
diminutive  urchin,  of  the  Italian  persuasion, 
with  very  big,  black  eyes. 

"Watch  him,"  Peggy  said  to  the  woman. 
Then,  to  the  youngster,  "Wha'd  ye  want, 
Tony?" 

Tony  smiled — an  irradiating  smile — but 
said  nothing. 

Peggy  produced  the  comic  sheet  and 
handed  it  cnrer  the  counter  to  him ;  where- 
upon the  smile  that  had  seemed  expansive 
enough,  an  instant  before,  became  infinitely 
more  so — until  it  made  one  marvel  how  so 


84    THE  PENNY  PHILANTHROPIST 

small  a  thing  as  Tony  could  produce  so 
great  a  smile. 

That  was  all — no  spoken  word  of  entreaty 
or  of  thanks — and  Tony  was  off  with  his 
treasure. 

"  His  pa  got  killed  on  the  railroad,"  Peggy 
explained  to  the  woman;  "an'  his  ma  don't 
have  no  pinnies  to  spare  fer  comics.  But  if 
Tony  have  iver  seen  himself  smile,  I  don't 
wonder  he  likes  to  practice  at  it — do  you  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  the  woman  ;  and  moved  towards 
the  door.  Then  she  came  back  a  step  or  two. 
"  Do  you  know  where  Tony  lives?  "she  asked. 

"  Sure ! "  cried  Peggy — and  told  her. 

"  I  bet  she  lends  a  hand  there — poor  'n'  all 
as  she  is ! "  Peggy  commented  to  Alma, 
when  the  woman  was  gone.  "  People  is 
mos'ly  kind  whin  they  know — all  they  nade 
is  the  chance." 

"  If  you  could  buy  people  at  what  some 
folks  think  they're  worth,  and  sell  'em  for 
what  you  think  they're  worth,  you'd  sure 
make  money ! "  Alma  laughed.  But  the 
bitterness  was  gone  from  her  manner. 

Anne  Kimbalton  had  dined  early,  at  Hull- 
House  ;  and  she  walked  up  Halsted  Street  to 
Peggy's.  Andrew  Kimbalton's  daughter 
was  no  fool.  Young  as  she  was,  she  realized 


ANNE  GETS  ACQUAINTED      85 

something  of  the  disadvantage  of  her  class  in 
trying,  as  so  many  of  its  members  sincerely 
were,  to  make  a  part  of  their  wealth  service- 
able to  those  who  need  it  most ;  and  she  was 
eager  to  find  some  way  to  better  understand- 
ing. All  her  life  she  had  heard  her  parents' 
importunate  mail  discussed ;  had  known  some- 
thing of  the  cases  of  individuals  who  presented 
themselves  for  succour  or  support  or  other 
financial  favouring — and  something  of  the 
sad  proportion  of  those  helped  who  showed 
a  rank,  incontrovertible  unworthiness.  She 
had  heard  talk,  at  her  father's  table  and  else- 
where, of  other  ways  of  benevolence :  of 
money  given  to  "  Boards  "  and  chiefly  con- 
sumed in  executive  expenses  ;  of  money  that 
endowed  colleges  where  youngsters  cheated 
and  pranked,  versus  money  that  built  libraries 
where  he  who  hungered  for  knowledge  might 
find  it ;  and  so  on.  Her  father  admitted  that 
his  was  the  gift  to  make,  but  not  to  disburse 
money ;  that  he  hoped  she,  who  had  never 
become,  as  he  was,  over-developed  in  ac- 
quisitiveness, might  learn  how  to  distribute 
wisely.  Her  training  for  this,  so  far  from 
being  hurried,  could  hardly  be  said  to  have 
begun  ;  but  the  idea  was  always  more  or  less 
kept  present  in  her  mind. 

So   it   was   in   no   mere  giggly  mood  of 


86    THE  PENNY  PHILANTHROPIST 

adventure  that  she  was  going  to  Peggy's. 
The  girl  was,  if  anything,  rather  too  des- 
perately in  earnest.  Mindful  of  the  barriers 
of  class-consciousness,  she  had  worn  her 
plainest  clothes;  but  the  result  was  not 
altogether  a  disguise.  Her  plain,  boyish 
tailored  suit  was  old,  but  the  smart  cut  was 
evident.  She  wore  what  in  her  English 
school  days  she  had  learned  to  call  a  "shirt," 
of  pleated  percale,  with  an  attached  collar  of 
Eton  shape  and  a  boyish  Windsor  tie.  And 
her  English  hat  was  almost  the  counterpart 
of  an  Eton  boy's  silk  hat,  only  it  was  made 
of  black  velvet.  The  effect  was  far  from 
inconspicuous  in  Halsted  Street — where  a 
willow  plume  (had  Anne  possessed  such  a 
thing)  would  have  passed  unnoticed. 

Peggy  smothered  a  gasp  when  she  saw 
her. 

"  Well ! "  cried  Anne,  when  greetings  had 
been  exchanged.  "  I've  given  away  my 
penny." 

"  An'  the  wan  that  got  it  didn'  say  '  How 
dare  you  ? '  "  Peggy  teased. 

"  No ;  you  were  right.  I  wish  you  could 
have  seen  her !  She  was  about  that  high," 
Anne  measured  to  indicate  a  child  of  six 
years  or  so,  "  and  when  I  spied  her,  she  had 
her  cunning  little  button  of  a  nose  flattened 


ANNE  GETS  ACQUAINTED      87 

against  the  window  of  a  shop  something  like 
yours,  Peggy,  only  it  sells  candies  and  a  few 
toys,  too.  It  wasn't  hard  to  get  acquainted, 
and  we  went  in  and  bought  a  doll  for  a 
penny.  Before  I  left  home,  I  put  some  scraps 
in  my  purse — thinking  things  might  work  out 
this  way — and  I  sat  down  there  in  the  shop 
and  dressed  that  dolly.  I  don't  believe  that 
child  had  ever  seen  a  doll  dressed  before !  " 

"  Of  course  she  hadn't !  "  Peggy  exclaimed, 
delightedly.  "  You  was  openin'  up  a  new 
world  to  her,  all  right." 

"Well,  it  was  nothing  to  the  world  she 
opened  up  to  me !  I  went  home  with  her. 
And — can  you  believe  it  ? — that  baby  is  the 
mother  of  a  family  !  She  is  the  eldest  of  four 
— pretty  as  picture-children,  every  one  of 
them.  The  father  has  been  gone  fourteen 
months  ;  they  don't  know  whether  he's  dead 
or  alive — and  the  mother  works  in  a  bakery. 
She  goes  to  work  at  four  in  the  morning, 
and  leaves  those  babies  in  a  dark,  cold  cellar. 
What  do  you  suppose  the  midget  of  my  ac- 
quaintance did  ?  She  was  out  to  buy  some 
bread,  she  told  me,  and  we  got  it.  But  as 
we  neared  her  house  I  could  hardly  keep  up 
with  her  flying  wee  feet.  She  ran  ahead  of 
me  down  the  narrow  passageway  to  the 
rooms  at  the  rear,  and  burst  in  with  her  dolly 


88    THE  PENNY  PHILANTHROPIST 

— to  give  to  the  baby  1  And  she  was  even 
more  radiantly  happy  giving  the  doll  to  the 
year-old  baby  than  I  had  been  giving  it  to 
her.  And  think  how  ashamed  I  felt !  Me 
giving  a  penny,  and  that  darling  wee  crea- 
ture giving  her  all !  " 

"  I'll  bet  ye  gave  more'n  a  penny,"  Peggy 
answered,  her  eyes  shining. 

"  Well,  I  should  hope  so  1  But  I  want  you 
to  tell  me  what  you  think  I'd  better  do. 
That  mother  must  be  helped,  so  she  can  stay 
home  with  those  babies.  I  wonder  if  it 
wouldn't  be  a  doubtful  kindness  for  us  to  try 
to  find  the  father  ?  "  And  so  on ;  until  Anne, 
ashamed  of  monopolizing  the  conversation 
with  her  penny-adventure,  asked  Peggy  : 

"What  did  you  do  with  your  penny  to- 
day?" 

Peggy  laughed,  and  ran  up  the  steps  into 
the  shop  ;  there  she  dipped  behind  a  counter 
and  brought  forth  a  penny  clay  pipe  and 
a  bowl  of  soapsuds.  She  blew,  with  evi- 
dent relish,  a  large  bubble  and  tossed  it 
towards  them.  The  girls  laughed. 

"  I  had  about  siventane  kids  in  here  this 
afternoon  ;  an'  whin  we  got  t'rough  I  dassent 
give  the  pipe  to  no  wan  o'  them,  er  there' d 
of  been  a  riot.  So  I'm  kapein'  it  to  sind  to 
some  child  that  can't  go  out  to  play." 


ANNE  GETS  ACQUAINTED      89 

"  I  suppose  there  are  lots  of  them  around 
here?"  Anne  asked. 

Peggy  nodded — with  a  sigh. 

"  I  wonder  if  I'll  ever  get  acquainted  like 
you  are,"  Anne  went  on,  eagerly. 

"  Sure  you  will,  lovey,"  Peggy  reassured 
her;  "but  ye've  got  quite  a  lot  to  contind 
wid." 

Anne  read  Peggy's  look.  "  Something's 
wrong,"  she  exclaimed.  "What  is  it? 
Please  tell  me." 

"  Well,  I  dunno,"  Peggy  answered  in  com- 
ical despair. 

"  I  wore  the  plainest  I  had,"  Anne  declared, 
apologetically. 

"That  might  be,"  Peggy  laughed,  whim- 
sically. 

"  Never  mind  ;  what  can  we  do  about  it?" 
Anne  demanded  in  a  businesslike  tone. 

Peggy  looked  her  over,  thoughtfully.  "  It 
might  be  the  hat,"  she  hazarded. 

Anne  took  her  hat  off.  Peggy  shook  her 
head. 

"  No.     Maybe  the  collar " 

"  The  collar  won't  come  off,"  Anne  ex- 
plained ;  "  it  is  sewed  to  my  shirt." 

Peggy  and  Alma  gasped. 

"  Sewed  to  yer "  Peggy  began.  But 

Anne  removed  her  coat  and  they  could  see 


90    THE  PENNY  PHILANTHROPIST 

that  what  she  called  her  shirt  was  not  a 
nether  garment.  "  Lan'  sakes  1 "  Peggy 
cried,  relieved ;  "  I  thought  you  meant  a 
dickey.  Now,"  still  studying  Anne,  "  1'ave  us 
see ;  none  o'  my  things' d  fit  ye.  But  maybe 
Alma's  got  a  waist  from  las'  summer  that's 
ironed  so  you  could  wear  it.  She  lives  right 
up-stairs,  you  know." 

"  Why,  of  course,"  Alma  said  ;  "  if  Miss 
Kimbalton  wouldn't  mind " 

"Indeed,  I'd  be  very  grateful,"  Anne  de- 
clared. 

"  But  say  !  "  Peggy  reminded  as  she  went 
with  them  towards  the  steps,  "  the  girls' 11  be 
droppin'  in  by  the  time  you  git  back.  If  we  say 
'  Miss  Kimbalton,'  I'm  afraid  it'll  make  them 
feel  kind  o' — well,  you  know !  Until  they 
git  acquainted  wid  ye,  they  might  think  you 
was  here  to  rubber.  Would  you  mind  if  we 
said  '  Annie  '  ?  " 

"  Not  a  bit !  "  answered  Anne,  smiling  at 
Peggy's  wisdom. 

"  My  Ian' !  I  hope  them  two  gits  rale  well 
acquainted,"  Peggy  ejaculated,  wistfully, 
when  the  shop  door  had  closed  on  them. 


IX 

In  Which  Tom  Gets  a  Message 

H,  dear !  Polly  have  gon'  an'  laid 
down  on  me  again  1"  Peggy  stood 
midway  on  the  steps  and,  looking 
down  into  the  sink,  saw  the  dirty  dishes. 
But  she  brightened  after  a  moment  of  dis- 
may, and  went  to  work  at  them  in  a  matter- 
of-fact  sort  of  way  as  if  she  had  not  really 
half  expected  to  find  things  otherwise. 
Mindful  of  her  best  waist,  though,  she 
pinned  one  end  of  a  towel  about  her,  apron- 
wise,  using  the  other  end  to  dry  her  dishes. 
She  was  singing  at  her  task  when  she  heard 
the  shop-bell  ring. 

"  Oh,  bee-lave  me  if  aaal  thim  endeaaring 
young  chaarrms,"  she  continued,  stepping, 
dish  in  hand,  to  the  foot  of  the  stairs  to  see  if 
the  customer  needed  waiting  on  or  could 
help  himself.  Then  :  "  Oh  1 "  It  was  Tom 
Oliphant  who  entered. 

"  Good-evening,"  he  said,  coming  to  the 
top  of  the  steps.  "  I  don't  suppose  there's 
any  answer  to  my  post-card  yet ;  but  as  I 
91 


92    THE  PENNY  PHILANTHROPIST 

was  passing,  I  thought  it  wouldn't  do  any 
harm  to  see." 

"  Not  a  bit ! "  Peggy  answered.  "  Mos' 
like  it'll  come  in  the  mornin'.  Yer  ma 
won't  make  you  wait  so  long  as  you  made 
her.  Come  in,  won't  you  ?  You  kin  see  I'm 
busy." 

"  Can't  I  help?"  he  asked,  shyly. 

"  Sure,  there  ain't  enough  fer  two." 

He  sat  down  on  the  top  step  and  watched 
her  intently  for  a  moment.  They  were  both 
more  than  a  bit  constrained  ;  he  could  ac- 
count for  this  in  himself — although  with  a 
blush — but  he  misinterpreted  it  in  her. 

"  That  wasn't  the  only  reason  I  came,"  he 
said,  presently — making  an  abrupt  and  awk- 
ward beginning  at  what  he  wanted  to  say. 

"  No  ?     Did  you  git  the  job  all  right  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  got  the  job  ;  but  there's  something 
queer  about  it.  I  hate  to  tell  you — you'll 
think  I'm  ungrateful — that  I  love  to  whine. 
God  knows  I  don't.  But  I  can't  help  feeling 
that  I'm  being  watched  all  the  time." 

Peggy  coloured — remembering  Mr.  Kim- 
balton's  parting  words  yesterday  morning. 

"Well,"  she  retorted,  "what  d'  you  care 
if  you  are  ?  They'll  see  all  the  quicker  that 
ye're  goin'  to  make  good." 

"Then  you  don't  think  it's  imagination  ?" 


TOM  GETS  A  MESSAGE         93 

"  I  dunno,"  Peggy  answered,  directly ; 
"  I  thought  yisterday  that  Mr.  Kimbalton 
acted,  jist  before  he  wint  away,  like  some 
wan  had  told  him  who  you  was.  But  s'po- 
sin'  they  did  !  It  might  make  him  a  bit  sus- 
picious at  first ;  but  if  he  has  you  watched 
close  enough,  he'll  soon  1'arn  the  kind  of  a 
fella  you  are." 

"  It's  like  you  to  put  it  that  way,"  the  boy 
declared,  gratefully.  "  Until  I  met  you,  the 
only  people  who  took  any  interest  in  my 
troubles — well  1  you  know  how  it  is :  most 
people  feel  that  they've  got  to  show  their 
sympathy  for  you  by  making  you  feel  as  if 
they  thought  nobody  ever  had  troubles  like 
yours.  But  you — you  kind  of  take  the  sting 
out  of  things,  somehow.  I — I  guess  you're 
about  the — about  the  best  friend  I've  got !" 

"  Oh,  fer  the  Ian'  sakes  ! "  Peggy  cried, 
partly  to  turn  the  conversation  and  partly  in 
real  contrition  because  she  had  been  so  slow 
remembering ;  "  I'm  a  gran'  body  to  sind  a 
message  to !  Wan  o'  yer  friends  have  jist 
had  me  to  the  tillyphone." 

"  One  of  my  friends  ?  "  in  great  surprise. 

"  Sure !  They  sint  fer  me  from  the  drug 
store  to  take  the  message." 

"Who  did?" 

"  I  couldn'  jist  git  the  name ;  but  he  said 


94    THE  PENNY  PHILANTHROPIST 

it  didn't  matter — that  you'd  know.  You 
was  to  go  to — here :  I've  got  the  place 
written  down,"  she  handed  a  memorandum 
to  Tom — "  an'  git  a  package — he  said  it  was 
valyable." 

"  Are  you  sure,"  he  asked,  studying  the 
address,  "  that  it  was  me  he  meant  ?  " 

"  If  yer  name's  Tom  Oliphant — which  is 
more'n  you  iver  told  me." 

"  That's  my  name,  all  right.  But  I  don't 
know  this  address.  What  was  I  to  do  with 
the  package  ?  " 

"  You  was  to  kape  it  safe  fer  him  till  he 
comes  back,  the  first  of  the  wake." 

"  That  must  have  been  McNabb,"  the  boy 
said,  puzzled.  "  He  told  me  last  night  he 
was  going  away  for  a  day  or  two.  He  rooms 
in  the  place  I  do,  and  has  been  real  kind  to 
me  in  the  way  I  told  you  about — helping  me 
to  feel  abused.  But  this's  sort  of  queer " 

"  I  don't  see  annythin'  quare  about  it,"  she 
retorted.  "  That  place  ye' re  to  go  to  is  quite 
a  ways  off,  an'  maybe  he  hadn'  time  to  go 
fer  himself." 

"  But  I  don't  see,"  reflectively,  "  how  I'm  to 
get  it  if  I  don't  know  who  it's  for." 

"He  said  you  was  jest  to  say  the  package 
fer  Mr.  Oliphant." 

"  Well,  I  don't  like  to  seem  suspicious ;  but 


TOM  GETS  A  MESSAGE         95 

— how'm  I  going  to  keep  a  valuable  package 
in  a  lodging-house  ?  McNabb  ought  to  know 
that!" 

"  He  did  !  "  Peggy  cried,  eagerly.  "  He 
says  :  '  If  Oliphant  has  no  place  to  kape  it, 
maybe  he  could  I'ave  it  at  your  place  ?  '  and 
I  says,  '  Sure  ! '  I  wouldn't  wonder  if  it's  a 
Chris'mas  present  fer  some  wan — his  girl, 
mos'  likely." 

"That's  probably  it,"  Tom  agreed.  "I 
hope  he's  got  one — a  girl,  I  mean.  Say!  I 
feel  like  a  dog.  I'm  getting  suspicious  of 
everybody  and  everything.  That's  what 
being  down  does  for  you.  Here !  give  me 
those  dishes  to  put  in  the  cupboard.  That'll 
help  me  to  feel  like  a  home-folks  human 
being  again." 

He  took  the  cups  and  saucers  from  her 
hand,  and  as  he  did  so,  the  shop-bell  rang. 
Peggy  ran  up  the  steps. 

Two  girls  had  entered  and  were  coming 
back  towards  the  kitchen.  One  was  Ida 
Levin,  a  Russian  Jewess  and  an  orphan  ;  the 
other  was  Katie  Sczymanska  (pronounced 
Chemanska),  a  Polish  girl.  Both  lived  in 
the  neighbourhood,  and  worked  not  far  from 
there.  Ida,  who  was  eighteen,  stitched  belts 
to  cheap  corset  covers,  in  an  underwear 
factory.  If  she  sewed  belts  on  seven  hundred 


96    THE  PENNY  PHILANTHROPIST 

and  eighty-four  corset  covers  a  day — averag- 
ing more  than  sixteen  hundred  yards  of 
machine  stitching,  for  she  sewed  both  edges 
and  finished  the  ends — she  could  earn  a 
dollar  minus  the  cost  of  all  the  thread  she 
used  and  all  the  needles  she  broke.  She 
would  have  been  well  content  enough  if  this 
pay  were  to  be  had  for  sixty  hours  a  week, 
fifty-two  weeks  a  year.  But  it  was  not.  She 
averaged  about  seven  months  of  full  work  a 
year,  two  months  of  no  work  at  all,  and  three 
months  of  work  for  two  or  three  days  a  week ; 
which  brought  her  income  down  to  less  than 
four  dollars  a  week.  Ida  was  a  clever  girl, 
and  ambitious — clever,  but  unskilled.  She 
lodged  with  a  Russian  Jewish  family  on 
Jefferson  Street,  and  paid  a  dollar  a  week  for 
half  of  a  three-quarter-size  cot  which  she 
shared  with  a  daughter  of  the  house,  in  a 
room  where  two  other  daughters  of  the  house- 
hold also  slept — off  the  family  kitchen.  Out  of 
her  slender  remainder,  Ida  fed  and  clothed 
herself  and  was  now  paying  for  instruction  in 
dressmaking,  four  nights  a  week  in  a  trade 
school. 

Katie's  parents  lived  in  the  Polish  quarter 
over  the  river ;  but  Katie  did  not  live  with 
them.  The  father  was  a  drunkard  and  habit- 
ual idler  ;  the  mother  was  a  dull-witted 


TOM  GETS  A  MESSAGE         97 

(practically  feeble-minded)  creature  of  im- 
moral rather  than  immoral  nature.  They 
had  so  badly  mistreated  their  children  that 
the  children  were  taken  from  them  by  the 
Juvenile  Court,  on  complaint  of  the  Juvenile 
Protective  Association.  The  younger  ones 
were  in  various  homes  for  dependent  girls  and 
boys.  Katie,  who  was  sixteen,  supported  her- 
self. She  was  a  cracker-packer,  and  averaged 
four  dollars  and  a  half  a  week,  three  dollars 
of  which  she  paid  for  board  with  a  family 
of  Polish  Jews  on  Clinton  Street.  Katie  was 
"  slow  "  ;  perhaps  stupid.  The  girls  she  met 
from  time  to  time  in  Peggy's,  "  of  an  avenin','' 
knew  more  or  less  of  Katie's  history  and  in- 
clined to  take  a  kind  of  responsible  care  of 
her,  when  they  could. 

Ida,  who  had  eaten  at  Martinelli's,  met 
Katie  at  Peggy's  door. 

"  Hello,  Peggy  1 "  she  greeted.  "  How's 
everything  ?  " 

Peggy  glanced  back,  embarrassed,  into  the 
kitchen  where  Tom  Oliphant  was  bestowing 
her  dishes  in  the  cupboard. 

"  Oh, — fine  1 "  she  answered.  "  How  are 
you?" 

"  Fair.  Well ! "  as  she  caught  sight  of 
Tom,  "  I  see  you  got  comp'ny.  We're  buttin' 
in,  Katie." 


98    THE  PENNY  PHILANTHROPIST 

"  No,  ye're  not !  "  Peggy  reassured  them. 
"  This  is — this  is  a  gentleman  who  come  in 
to  see  if  he  could — if  there  was  a  letter  fer 
him " 

"  I  was  just  going,"  Tom  declared,  reach- 
ing rather  wildly  for  his  hat.  "  I'll  be  back 
with  that  package  later." 


X 

In  Which  You  Can  Hear  The  Breakers 

THERE  was  an  embarrassed  moment 
after  he  left.     Ida  felt  that  they  had 
spoiled   a  pleasant  call  for  Peggy, 
and  was  heartily  distressed.     It  was  Katie 
who  restored  ease. 

"  Say  1 "  she  sighed,  ecstatically,  "  he's  a 
swell  fella  I  Where' d  ye  git  him,  Peg  ?  " 

"Oh,  go  on!"  Peggy  cried.  "He's  jest 
wan  o'  me  customers  that  dropped  in — like 
yersilves.  Lan'  sakes !  If  I  iver  git  a  fella, 
he'll  nade  to  be  a  night  watchman,  that  can 
do  his  courtin'  in  the  airly  afternoons." 

When  Anne  and  Alma  returned,  Peggy 
welcomed  them  as  if  they  had  not  been  there 
before.  She  was  still  busy  with  the  last  of 
her  few  supper  dishes ;  and  when  she  had 
introduced  "  Annie  "  as  casually  as  she  could, 
she  went  on  with  her  work  at  the  sink.  The 
four  other  girls  seated  themselves  according 
to  their  fancy  :  Ida  on  Petie's  couch,  Katie  in 
the  rocking-chair,  Annie  on  the  steps,  over 
beside  the  sink,  and  Alma  beside  the  table 
where  she  could  rest  her  elbows. 
99 


loo  THE  PENNY  PHILANTHROPIST 

It  was  warm  and  snug  in  the  little  kitchen  ; 
it  was  homelike  ;  and  the  air  was  sweet  with 
the  sense  of  haven.  A  bleak  wind  whistled 
down  Halsted  Street  and  around  its  corners  ; 
groggeries  were  crowded,  and  worse  dens 
were  beginning  to  be.  Nickel  theatres  and 
Greek  candy  parlours  tantalized  the  pleasure- 
starved.  An  occasional  snatch  of  teasing 
rhythm  came  floating  down  from  a  dance 
hall.  Hundreds  were  pouring  into  the  By- 
Joe  (Bijou)  and  into  the  Academy,  to  share 
in  the  splendid  adventures  of  "  Nellie,  The 
Beautiful  Cloak  Model"  and  "Jack  Binns 
At  the  Key."  Hunger  of  many  sorts  stalked 
the  brightly-lighted  street :  hunger  for  food, 
hunger  for  work,  hunger  for  happiness, 
hunger  for  forgetfulness,  and  hunger  to  des- 
troy. And  in  a  dimly-lighted  wee  shop  and 
a  low  back  kitchen,  a  slip  of  a  girl — a  child 
—quite  without  self-consciousness  in  what 
she  was  doing,  had  created  out  of  her  mate- 
rial next-to-nothingness  a  real  port  for  frail 
human  craft  in  a  storm. 

"  I  seen  yer  piece  in  the  paper  this  mornin', 
Katie,"  Peggy  laughed. 

"  What  piece  ?  "  Katie  asked. 

"  Why,  the  wan  that  says  ye're  a  dashin' 
brunette,  an'  you  an'  three  other  girls  is  all 
stuck  on  the  same  fella ;  what  shall  ye  do  ? 


YOU  CAN  HEAR  THE  BREAKERS  101 

An'  Laura  Jean  says:  'Move  where  the  men 
ain't  so  scarce  ! '  Ha  !  Ha  !  " 

"  But  I  ain't  a  dashin'  brunette,"  objected 
Katie  the  literal-minded. 

"  Ain't  you  ?  Well,  that's  a  dashin'  new 
red  skirt  ye've  got  on." 

"Yeh,"  Katie  agreed,  showing  her 
pleasure.  "  I  got  it  off  of  our  foreman. 
He's  a  real  kind  fella." 

The  other  girls  exchanged  significant 
glances. 

"  Katie  ! "  Ida  cried,  disgustedly.  "  You 
ought  to  have  a  nurse.  You  ain't  fit  to  be 
goin'  around  alone.  You  got  the  least  sense 
I  ever  saw." 

"Me?"  echoed  Katie  stupidly.  "What 
fer?" 

"  What  fer  ?  "  Ida  mimicked  the  blank  tone 
of  Katie.  "  Don't  that  prove  it?  Don't  you 
know  you  can't  take  a  skirt  off  a  fella  with- 
out payin'  fer  it  ?  " 

"  I  don't  have  to  pay  fer  it — he  give  it  to 
me,"  Katie  persisted.  "My  old  one  was 
wore  out  an'  looked  fierce.  He  ast  me  why 
didn'  I  buy  a  new  one,  an'  I  told  him  I  didn' 
have  no  money." 

"  Oh,  Katie  !  " 

"He  said  it  made  him  sore  to  see  a  nice- 
lookin'  girl  like  me  dressed  so  measly." 


102   THE  PENNY  PHILANTHROPIST 

"Well,  if  you'd  stop  buyin'  pie  an'  cake 
an*  bananas  an'  sourkrout  candy,  maybe  you 
could  buy  yerself  a  skirt.  Say,  Peggy,  ain't 
it  awful  hot  in  here?" 

Ida  fell  back  faintly  on  the  cot.  Anne 
cried  out  in  distress  : 

"  Oh,  Peggy !     She's  sick  ! ' 

Peggy  went  over  to  Ida  to  support  her, 
and  Alma  hurried  to  the  sink  to  wring  a  rag 
out  in  cold  water. 

"She  needn't  talk  about  me  eatin',"  Katie 
observed,  phlegmatically.  "She  don't  eat 
enough  to  keep  alive  on,  since  she's  takin' 
them  lessons." 

Ida  struggled  to  her  feet.  "  It  is  hot 
here  I "  she  protested.  "  And  I  been  sitting 
right  by  the  stove.  Never  mind  my  eatin', 
Katie !  I  rather  save  on  my  stomach  than 
on  my  self-respeck." 

The  shop-bell  rang  at  this  juncture,  and 
Peggy  hurried  to  attend.  When  she  saw 
who  it  was  she  said  : 

"Why,  hello,  Hazel !  I  ain't  seen  you  in  a 
long  time." 

"  I  know,"  Hazel  answered,  indifferently. 
"  Is  The  Ladies'  Home  out  yet  ?  " 

"Not  the  January.  Have  ye  had  the 
Chris'mas  wan  ?  " 

"  O'  course — ages  ago !    Anything  doin'  ?  " 


YOU  CAN  HEAR  THE  BREAKERS  103 

She  stepped  back  to  where  she  could  see  the 
kitchen — and  be  seen  from  it.  "  Hello,  girls  !  " 

Their  gasp  of  surprise  when  they  saw  her 
was  not  so  well  concealed  but  that  Hazel 
was  aware  of  it. 

"  My !  ye  look  swell,"  Katie  commented, 
admiringly.  "  Where'd  you  git  the  willow 
plume  ?  " 

"  Bought  it,  of  course,"  Hazel  answered, 
tartly.  "Where'd  you  suppose  I  got  it?  " 

"  Workin'  in  the  same  place  ? "  Peggy 
asked.  "  I  thought  maybe  you  wint  away." 

"  Yeh  ;  I'm  in  the  same  place — though  I 
think  I'll  change.  I've  had  such  a  lot  o' 
dates,  lately,  is  the  reason  I  ain't  been 
around.  The  way  I  been  goin'  is  somethin' 
awful ! " 

"  Set  down  ;  can't  you  ?  "  Peggy  urged. 

"  No  ;  I  can't.  I  guess  I'll  take  in  a  show. 
I  seen  a  swell  one  last  night — down-town. 
You  certainly  do  see  style  at  them  theatres. 
Well,  so  long  1 " 

"  She  must  of  got  a  raise,"  Katie  observed 
when  Hazel  was  gone.  "  Them  plumes  cost 
fourteen  dollars." 

"You're  the  limit  1"  Ida  declared,  exas- 
perated. 

"  Don't  you  think,"  Anne  ventured,  a  little 
timidly,  "  that  she  might  have  bought  it  ?  " 


"  Oh,  sure  !  "  Ida  replied,  sarcastically. 
"  She  earns  five  dollars  and  a  half  a  week, 
sellin'  gents'  underwear,  in  the  basement." 

Peggy  sighed  sadly.  "  Ain't  it  a  pity  ? 
But  I  was  afraid  Hazel'd  go  that  way." 

"  Well,  she's  a  fool ! "  Ida  said,  rising  to 
go.  "  Now,  Katie,  you  git  wise  to  a  few 
things ;  you  see  how  it  is  !  You  take  back 
that  skirt,  an'  wear  nothin'  you  can't  earn 
and  that  you  can't  expect  everybody  to  be- 
lieve you  earn.  Finery  you  can't  account 
fer  ain't  no  better' n  a  brand  on  you — even  if 
you  got  it  honest,  nobody's  goin'  to  believe 
you  did.  You  wear  it,  an'  they  take  you  for 
— well,  you  know  ! " 

"  I'll  take  it  back,"  Katie  promised,  evi- 
dently impressed.  "  I  didn't  know  it  was  any 
harm — honest  I  didn't ! " 


XI 

In  Which  Anne  Makes  a  Suggestion 

WHEN  they  were  gone,  Anne  sat 
looking  at  Peggy  in  a  dumb  won- 
derment :  she  didn't  know  which 
of  a  thousand  questions  to  ask  first,  and  she 
was  struggling  with  so  deep  a  feeling  that 
all  she  could  do  was  just  look  and  look — 
finally  through  a  blur  of  tears. 

"  Is  it — is  it  like  this — here — every  even- 
ing ?  "  she  managed  at  last  to  ask.  "  I  mean, 
do  the  girls  come  in,  and  talk  this  way  ?  " 

"There's  always  a  few  o'  thim,"  Peggy  an- 
swered. "Maybe  you  don't  know  it,  but 
there  ain't  hardly  anny  other  place .  thim 
girls  kin  go.  Whether  they  live  with  their 
folks,  or  board,  or  lodge,  there  mos'ly  ain't 
anny  place  to  set  but  the  kitchen — an'  that's 
full,  an'  noisy.  The  kids  makin'  rough-house, 
maybe  the  baby  cry  in',  an'  maybe  the  pa 
drinkin'  beer  an'  playin'  cards  wid  a  bunch  o* 
min,  or  the  ma  doin'  a  part  of  her  washin' 
an'  hangin'  the  kitchen  full  o'  clo'es  to  dry. 
The  girls  can't  ask  nobody  to  see  'em  ;  an'  if 
they  want  to  see  anny  wan,  they  got  to  go 
105 


106  THE  PENNY  PHILANTHROPIST 

out.  If  they  spind  a  nickel  fer  a  show,  it 
don't  last  but  a  little  while — an'  out  they  go. 
They  ain't  got  no  money  fer  to  go  to  a  dance 
— an'  if  they  try  to  git  took,  it  gits  thim  trou- 
ble, sometimes.  There  ain't  no  place  fer  a 
girl  that  can't  spind,  except  walkin'  up  an' 
down  the  strate,  lookin'  at  folks  buyin'  hats 
an'  sodas  an'  candy  an'  theaytre  tickets — an' 
that's  no  great  fun,  aven  on  a  nice,  warm 
night.  So  I  make  'em  welcome  whin  they 
drop  in  here.  They  kin  look  at  Help  Want- 
eds,  or  rubber  at  the  maggyzines,  or  set  an' 
talk — as  they  fale  like.  It  ain't  much  I  kin 
do — but  I  do  what  I  kin." 

There  was  that  about  Peggy  which  made 
both  girls  instinctively  forbear  to  retort  that 
she  did  a  very  great  deal,  and  that  if  other 
people  came  anywhere  near  doing  as  much 
in  proportion  to  their  abilities,  the  world 
would  be  an  infinitely  easier  place  for  the 
hard-pressed  to  live  in.  Peggy's  sincerity 
and  simplicity  were  too  great  to  permit  of 
compliment.  But  when  she  said  it  wasn't 
much  that  she  could  do,  Alma  went  to  her, 
and  took  her  in  her  arms,  and  kissed  her — 
without  comment — as  one  can  kiss  only  a 
saviour;  and  Anne,  understanding,  turned 
hastily  away  and  dried  her  tears. 

"  Now,  Peggy,"  Anne  said,  when  she  could 


ANNE  MAKES  A  SUGGESTION  107 

command  herself,  "  tell  me  just  what  you 
think  I  can  do — or  help  to  do.  I  must  give 
Katie  a  new  skirt.  And  Ida  must  let  me  pay 
for  those  lessons.  She  can  call  it  a  loan  if 
she  likes.  Is  there  anything  that  can  be 
done  for  Hazel?" 

Peggy  and  Alma  looked  questioningly  at 
one  another,  and  doubtfully  shook  their 
heads. 

"  If  they  do  it  for  feathers,  there's  a  screw 
loose  in  'em,"  Alma  said.  "  If  they're  the 
kind  that  you  can  do  anythin'  with,  they 
never  give  up,  even  fer  hunger — while  the 
lake's  handy." 

"  Oh,  Alma,  darlin' ! "  Peggy  remonstra- 
ted. "  Ye' re  thinkin'  all  girls  is  made  o'  fine, 
strong  stuff  like  you.  They  ain't,  dear  I 
Look  at  Katie !  Katie  don't  mean  no  more 
harm  than  a  kitten ;  but  she  jest  ain't  got 
good  sinse.  I  ain't  never  seen  no  girl  like 
Hazel  that  got  back  to  workin'  hard  again 
fer  small  pay.  But  maybe  it  was  because 
nobody  tried  long  enough.  I  dunno.  They 
ought  to  have  a  chance  offered  'em — that's 
sure.  But  I  guess  there's  more  hope  in  Katie 
— wid  all  her  soft  head  ! — if  you  kin  git  her 
before  she  goes  ! " 

"  Tell  me  what  I  can  do,  and  how  to  do  it. 
Shall  I  send  her  a  skirt,  and  not  let  her  know 


io8  THE  PENNY  PHILANTHROPIST 

where  it  came  from — just  say  '  From  a 
friend '  ?  Or  shall  I  ask  her  out  to  buy  it  ? 
Or  shall  I  send  her  the  money  ?  Or  what  ?  " 

"  I  wouldn't  do  any  of  them,"  Alma  coun- 
selled. "  You  see  how  Katie  is :  she's  got 
awful  little  sense,  poor  kid !  Had  it  all 
starved  and  beat  out  of  her,  I  guess — if  she 
had  any  to  start  with.  It  ain't  goin'  to  be  no 
kindness  to  Katie  to  upset  her  by  sudden 
gifts — she  ain't  wise  enough  to  spot  the 
difrence  between  gettin'  a  thing  from  you 
an'  gettin'  it  from  some  other  person  that'll 
make  her  pay  dear  fer  it.  What  that  kid 
needs  to  learn  is  :  not  to  want  what  she  can't 
earn." 

"  Then  how  can  I  give  her  the  skirt  ?  " 

"  You  can't.  But  you  can  help  her  buy  it. 
Loan  her  the  money  an'  let  her  pay  it  back 
as  she  can " 

Alma  stopped  short,  and  shook  her  head. 
"Then  Katie'd  borrow  where  she  hadn't 
ought  to  ! "  she  said,  with  sudden  realization. 
"  Or  get  the  easy  payment  idea,  which  she 
don't  seem  to  have  caught  yet — lots  of  girls 
buy  all  they  wear  on  the  installment  plan,  an' 
pay  double  fer  it!  I  dunno — I  give  Katie 
up." 

Anne  turned,  distressed,  to  Peggy.  "  Do 
you  give  her  up,  too?"  she  asked. 


ANNE  MAKES  A  SUGGESTION  109 

Peggy  was  loath  to  discredit  anything 
Alma  had  said  ;  she  was  so  eager  to  have 
Alma  feel  her  value  for  helping  other  girls. 

"Alma's  right,"  she  answered,  slowly; 
"  there  ain't  no  doubt  about  it.  But  o'  course 
I  know  what  she  manes  :  she  kin  see  no  way 
to  give  Katie  a  rid  skirt,  right  now,  widout 
maybe  doin'  her  harm.  That's  the  trouble 
wid  so  much  that's  give.  But  Alma  have  a 
wonderful  idea  o'  what  could  be  done  fer 
Katie  if  anny  wan  had  that  much  love.  She 
was  tellin'  me  about  it,  an'  I  got  so  excited  ! 
She  knows  what  Katie  nades ;  on'y  it's  so 
much  to  ask." 

"  Oh  ! "  Anne  cried  ;  "  think  how  much  I've 
got!" 

Peggy  smiled  whimsically.  "  Not  money, 
dear,"  she  said ;  "  but  love.  Money,  or 
things  money'll  buy,  is  jest  what  Katie 
mustn't  get  gave  to  her  right  now — it's 
steadyin'  she  nades ;  falein'  that  some  wan 
keers  tur'ble  much  if  she  kapes  straight,  or 
not.  If  Katie  had  sinse  enough  to  think 
about  goin'  wrong,  ye  couldn'  blame  her  if 
she  thought  it  didn'  matter  to  no  wan  what 
she  done.  If  she  could  jest  git  it  in  her  poor 
head  that  some  wan  cares !  Thafs  what 
Katie  nades  1  You  kin  see  how  it  steadies 
her  aven  whin  Ida  scolds  at  her ;  but  Ida 


I  io  THE  PENNY  PHILANTHROPIST 

can't  mind  Katie  all  the  time — she've  her  own 
battles  to  fight." 

Anne  was  thinking  hard.  "  And  I  don't 
suppose  Ida  would  let  anybody  help  her  1 " 
she  said. 

"  She  would  if  she  liked  you,"  Alma  de- 
clared. "  But  she'd  have  to  feel  sure  about 
you,  or  she'd  rather  starve.  She'd  be  awful 
sore  if  she  thought  she  was  bein'  felt  sorry 
fer." 

"  I  see  ! "  Anne  exclaimed.  "  If  I  can  make 
them  like  me,  I  can  help  them — even  Hazel, 
maybe ! — but  if  I  can't,  my  money  is  likely  to 
do  more  harm  than  good.  Now,  what  shall 
I  do?  Have  I  a  chance  at  all  if  I  let  them 
know  who  I  am  ?  Will  they  ever  give  me 
even  a  trial  ?  Or  will  they  jump  to  the  con- 
clusion that  I'm  a  fool  because  I'm  rich  ?  " 

Peggy  laughed  delightedly.  "  Tis  a  pity," 
she  said,  "  that  folks  don't  mingle  more — so 
the  poor  could  fin'  out  that  the  rich  ain't  all 
mane  an'  uppish  an'  unheedin',  an'  the  rich 
could  fin'  out  that  the  poor  ain't  all  dang'r- 
ous.  But  it'd  be  kind  o'  hard  to  begin,  I'm 
thinkin'  ;  harder  for  Ida  an'  Katie  than  fer 
you  an'  your  kind.  But  I  kin  see  how  it'll 
maybe  be  a  bit  hard  fer  you  to  begin ;  it's 
like  you  said  :  I'm  afraid  they  wouldn'  give 
you  no  fair  chance — Ida'd  turn  you  down,  an* 


ANNE  MAKES  A  SUGGESTION  in 

Katie'd  go  to  pieces  on  you,  before  you 
could  show  'em  what  you  meant  to  do." 
Peggy  shook  her  head.  "  You  gotta  have 
more'n  the  will  to  do  in  this  world  :  you 
gotta  know  how." 

The  three  girls  sat  and  looked  at  one 
another  blankly.  Each  was  revolving  in  her 
own  mind  all  the  possibilities  of  the  situation. 

"  I  guess,"  said  Peggy,  softly,  "  the  Son  o' 
God  didn'  make  no  mistake  whin  He  set  out 
to  help  folks :  He  knew  where  to  begin." 
The  nativity  in  the  manger  was  strongly  in 
her  mind  because  of  the  approach  of  Christ- 
mas, and  the  omnipresence  of  the  theme  in 
magazine  picture  and  story ;  her  shop  was 
hung  with  coloured  posters  picturing  madon- 
nas and  magi  and  meek  cattle  and  wonder- 
ing shepherds,  and  The  Child :  naked,  out- 
cast, possessionless  but  pregnant  with  power 
to  shake  the  world — and  to  save  it. 

"  And  I,"  Anne  sighed,  "  am  like  the  Rich 
Young  Man :  I  don't  want  to  sell  all  that  I 
have,  and  give  to  the  poor  ;  but  I'll  try  not  to 
'  turn  away,  sorrowful.'  Maybe  there's  a 
middle  ground !  And  anyway,  I  want  to  sell 
most  that  I  have  and  give  to  the  poor — but  I 
want  to  see  how  it  should  be  done.  Now, 
you  girls  tell  me  what  you  think  of  this  :  I 
suppose  you  know  that  my  father  began  as 


112    THE  PENNY  PHILANTHROPIST 

a  poor  boy.  He  came  to  Chicago  when  he 
was  a  lad  of  fourteen,  more  than  fifty  years 
ago.  He  lived  over  here  on  the  West  Side, 
and  carried  his  tin  dinner-pail  and  thought 
he  was  on  the  highroad  to  fortune  when  he 
was  getting  eight  dollars  a  week — he  says  he 
has  never  felt  as  rich  since.  Well,  he  just 
worked  and  worked  ;  and  didn't  do  much 
but  work,  and  study  how  to  get  on  faster, 
till  his  youth  was  gone.  He  was  an  only 
son,  and  he  worshipped  his  widowed  mother 
— I  am  afraid  her  husband  hadn't  made  her 
very  happy — and  his  first  great  dream  of 
riches  was  to  buy  her  a  fine  home.  At  last 
he  was  able  to  do  this.  In  those  days,  the 
neighbourhood  around  Peoria  and  Green 
Streets  and  Washington  Boulevard,  and  all 
around  there,  was  one  of  the  nicest  in  Chicago ; 
most  of  the  men  whose  business  was  on  the 
West  Side  had  their  homes  there.  And  a 
little  while  after  the  Big  Fire,  father  bought  a 
house  there :  a  nice,  white-stone-front,  three- 
story-and-basement  house,  for  his  mother  and 
himself,  and  tried  to  have  in  it  all  the  things 
his  mother  had  dreamed  about  through  the 
years  when  she  was  so  poor  and  had  to  live 
meanly.  She  was  a  New  England  girl,  and 
her  ideas  of  h"8me  never  changed  much. 
Father  says  it  ,was  a  time  when  furniture  and 


ANNE  MAKES  A  SUGGESTION  113 

decoration  were  probably  the  most  dreadful 
they  have  ever  been.  But  when,  instead  of 
buying  bedsteads  of  walnut  with  huge,  high 
headboards  full  of  machine-carved  pumpkins 
and  bananas,  he  went  down  to  New  England 
to  buy  his  mother  some  old  mahogany  four- 
posters,  everybody  thought  he  was  crazy. 
That  was  how  he  got  started  buying  antiques 
— before  hardly  anybody  else  thought  of  it ; 
and  although  he's  got  all  of  our  houses  full  of 
them,  and  a  warehouse  full  of  others  we've 
no  place  for,  he  can't  stop  buying.  Well, 
grandmother  lived  in  that  house  for  twenty- 
five  years — until  she  died ;  she  loved  it,  and 
would  never  leave  it.  When  father  married, 
he  went  to  live  on  the  North  Side — he  was  a 
very  rich  old  bachelor,  then — but  his  mother 
never  would  leave  the  home  he  had  made  for 
her.  And  since  she  died,  fourteen  years  ago, 
he  has  never  let  it  be  touched — it  is  just  as 
she  left  it.  He  keeps  an  old  caretaker  there, 
and  he  goes  there  quite  often  when  he  wants 
to  get  away  from  everybody  and  be  by  him- 
self. It's — well,  it  isn't  an  intimidating  house, 
like  ours  on  the  Lake  Shore  Drive.  I  don't 
really  like  that  house,  myself — it's  too  frig 
and  too  full  of  servants.  4,  But  do  you  think 
that  if  I  asked  Ida  and  Katie  to  come,  with 
you  and  Alma,  to  see  me  at  my  West  Side 


114    THE  PENNY  PHILANTHROPIST 

house,  they'd  come — and  get  acquainted? 
You  could  tell  them,  if  you  wanted  to,  that 
my  father  buys  old  furniture ;  and  as  'most 
everybody  around  there  takes  lodgers,  they 
might  even  think  that  we  do.  Anything  to 
get  them  to  give  me  a  chance  to  be  friendly 
in  a  real  way ! " 

"  Why,  I  think  that'd  be  grand  ! "  Peggy 
cried,  enthusiastically.  "  But  I  dunno  whin 
I  could  come,  very  well." 

"  Couldn't  you  come  for  a  little  while  to- 
morrow afternoon  ?  Couldn't  Polly  or  Petie 
'tend  the  store  for  an  hour  or  two?  And 
don't  the  girls  get  off  at  four,  Saturdays?" 

"  I  kin  ask  thim  whin  they  go  by,  in  the 
mornin'." 

"Will  you?  Just  tell  them  that  Annie 
asked  you  to  come  to  see  her,  and  to  bring 
them." 

"  Sure  I'll  try,"  Peggy  promised. 

They  discussed  Anne's  plan  in  detail,  for  a 
while,  and  then  Anne  said  she  must  go  up 
and  change  her  waist  and  start  for  home. 

"  Say,  Alma,"  Peggy  asked  her  when  she 
had  said  good-night,  and  the  two  girls  were 
going  towards  the  street  door,  "  if  you  see 
Petie  sleuthin*  around,  will  you  sind  him 
in?" 

Then,  looking  up  at  her  clock  and  discover- 


ANNE  MAKES  A  SUGGESTION  115 

ing  that  it  was  nearly  ten,  she  went  up  into 
the  shop,  opened  the  door,  and  called  : 

"  Fee-tie ! " 

After  listening  a  moment  for  an  answering 
call,  she  returned  to  the  kitchen  and  opened 
a  cache  of  her  own :  in  the  back  of  the  old 
wooden  wall-clock.  Pulling  thence  a  pair  of 
blackened  steel  spectacle  rims,  she  put  them 
on  and  went  over  to  the  bureau  to  study  the 
effect  in  the  glass. 

"  I  got  to  rade  the  riot-act  to  that  sleuth," 
she  told  herself,  comically,  "  an'  I'll  nade  to 
look  as  terrifyin'  as  I  kin." 

She  had  hardly  begun  to  do  this  when 
Petie  entered,  excitedly.  She  stood  with 
arms  akimbo  to  receive  him  as  he  came  down 
the  steps. 

"  Is  this  what  you  call  nine  o'clock  ?  "  she 
demanded,  sternly. 

Petie  approached  her,  stepping  softly. 
"This  place  is  watched  !"  he  breathed,  in  a 
hoarse  whisper. 

"Well,  you're  goin1  to  be  watched,  after 
this  !  "  Peggy  retorted,  impatiently. 

"  No,  honest  1  I  tell  you — you  better  be- 
lieve me." 

"  I'll  belave  nothin'  !  You  git  yersilf  to 
bed." 

*  there  is  a  man,  across  the  street 


n6   THE  PENNY  PHILANTHROPIST 

in  a  dark  doorway,  and  I  tell  you  he's  a 
detective." 

"  Well,  you  git  yersilf  into  bed  an'  maybe 
he  won't  detect  you." 

"  Aw  ! "  With  an  imprecation  of  disgust, 
Petie  took  his  beard  from  his  pocket  and 
started  to  crawl  beneath  his  cot. 

"  Petie  !  "  cried  Peggy,  "  I  said  into  bed — 
not  under  it !  " 

Petie  backed  out.  "  I  was  puttin'  some- 
thin'  away,"  he  explained,  testily.  With 
about  four  jerks  he  divested  himself  of  shoes, 
coat  and  trousers,  and  was  about  to  crawl 
beneath  the  covers  when  Peggy  seized  him. 

"  Here !  D'  you  go  to  bed  like  a  haythin, 
widout  washin'  annythin'  ?  " 

She  collared  him,  and  marched  him  over 
to  the  sink  where  Petie  performed  compulsory 
ablutions  to  a  very  limited  extent,  using  the 
dish-towel. 

"  I  don't  see  no  use  o'  washin'  yerself  at 
night,"  he  protested,  yawning  desperately. 
"Nobody  kin  see  you  when  you're  in  bed." 

"The  idea!"  Peggy  cried.  "Have  you 
no  sinse  of  daycincy  ?  " 

It  was  then  that  Petie  noticed  the  spectacles. 

"  Where'd  you  git  them  ?  "  he  demanded. 

"  They're  what  I'm  drove  to  by  the  sorrers 
o'  bringing  up  a  bad  boy  like  you,"  Peggy 


ANNE  MAKES  A  SUGGESTION  117 

answered,  trying  to  be  impressively  stern. 
There  were  times  when  Petie  made  her  long 
for  the  size  and  authority  of  McGarigle — not 
that  he  did  anything  so  wrong,  but  that  she 
was  so  apprehensive  of  what  he  might  fall 
into,  on  Halsted  Street. 

She  picked  up  his  trousers  and  disclosed 
quite  shocking  holes.  She  was  attempting 
to  fit  a  patch  to  one  of  these  when  the  shop- 
bell  rang  and  she  put  her  work  by,  hastily — 
though  she  forgot  to  take  off  the  spectacle 
rims. 

But  it  wasn't  Tom  Oliphant  who  entered. 


XII 

In  Which  Tom  Comes  to  Grief 

IT  was  a  heavily-built,  sandy-complex- 
ioned  man,  with  a  chestnut  coloured 
mustache,  and  the  keenest  eyes  in  the 
world. 

"  Good-avenin',"  Peggy  said. 

"  Good-evening.     You're  Peggy  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"  I  came  to  have  a  little  talk  with  you." 

"  Well,  ye're  followin'  the  fashion  of  most 
that's  come  to  me  imporium  this  avenin'. 
But  come  in — maybe  me  talk  ain't  all  run 
out." 

He  stepped  back  for  her  to  lead  the  way, 
and  as  he  followed  her  leisurely  down  the 
steps  he  took  a  quick  mental  snap-shot  of  that 
kitchen  living-room.  Seating  himself,  as  if 
perfectly  at  home,  he  said,  very  deliberately : 

"  I'm  Burns." 

Peggy  smiled.     "The  great  detective?" 

"What  made  you  think  of  that?"  he 
asked. 

"It'd  be  a  wonder,"  she  laughed,  "if  I 
could  think  of  annything  else.  We  got  a 
118 


TOM  COMES  TO  GRIEF        119 

sleuth  in  the  fam'ly,  and  he  sets  you  consid'r- 
able  above  George  Washin'ton.  When  he 
hears  you  been  here,  an'  him  aslape  under 
yer  nose,  I'm  thinkin'  he'll  go  out  of  his 
mind  wid  grief." 

"  Hm !  And  I  suppose  there  isn't  any 
other  reason  why  you  should  be  thinking 
about  detectives  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  Peggy  answered,  deliberately ; 
"  there  is.  There  was  a  fri'nd  o'  mine  in 
here  this  avenin'  that  told  me  he  had  a  feelin' 
of  bein'  watched.  An'  I  had  rayson  to  think 
it  might  be  so." 

"  I'd  be  careful,  if  I  were  you,"  Burns 
advised,  "how  I  made  friends  with  a  man 
who  thought  he  was  being  watched.  A  man 
thinks  so,  usually,  because  he  knows  there's 
a  reason  why  he  ought  to  be." 

"  Oh,  there's  a  rayson,  all  right,"  Peggy 
admitted  with  a  mournful  little  sigh  and  a 
shake  of  her  head.  "  Not  why  annybody 
nades  to  watch  him,  but  why  they  might 
think  they  did." 

"If  that's  the  case,  watching  won't  hurt 
him." 

"  That's  what  I  told  him  :  the  closer  they 
watched,  the  quicker  they'd  find  out  he's  on 
the  square." 

"  What  did  he  say  to  that  ?  " 


120   THE  PENNY  PHILANTHROPIST 

"  He  thanked  me  fer  helpin'  him  to  think 
of  it  that  way — said  most  o'  the  people  that 
sympathized  wid  him  made  him  fale  like  his 
grievance  was  the  worst  ever  instead  of " 

"  Oh,  he  has  a  grievance,  has  he?" 

"Well,  I  guess  you'd  call  it  that.  His 
pa  was  sint  to  prison  fer  somethin'  another 
man  done." 

"Almost  every  man  who  goes  to  prison 
says  he  goes  for  something  another  man 
did." 

"  Do  they?  Well,  if  this  fella's  pa  did  do 
it,  I  hope  the  boy'll  niver  find  it  out.  It's  bad 
enough  to  have  yer  pa  in  jail  fer  what  you 
think  he  didn'  do  ;  but  it'd  be  tur'ble  to  have 
him  in  fer  what  you  knew  he  had  done — 
wouldn'  it?" 

Burns  looked  narrowly  at  Peggy ;  he  was 
making  up  his  mind  how  clever  she  was,  and 
how  misleading. 

"  What's  your  friend's  name  ? "  he  asked. 

"  Oliphant— Tom  Oliphant." 

"  Father  a  bank  cashier  down  state  ?  " 

"  Yis,  sir." 

"  Hm !  I  followed  that  case.  You  see,  I 
do  a  lot  of  business  in  bank  protection. 
That  bank  wasn't  a  client  of  mine,  but  I  got 
all  the  data — might  come  in  handy  some  time. 
I  guess  Oliphant  was  the  goat,  all  right." 


TOM  COMES  TO  GRIEF        121 

"  Well,  why  didn't  you  say  so  ? "  Peggy 
cried. 

"They  didn't  ask  me." 

"  An'  d'  you  have  to  wait  fer  an  invitation 
to  save  an  innercent  man  from  jail?  " 

"You  do.  Just  as,  if  you're  a  doctor  and 
know  what  might  save  a  sick  man  whom 
another  doctor's  tending,  you  may  not  inter- 
fere unless  you're  asked." 

Peggy  stared ;  she  had  never  realized 
that  there  could  be  a  so-constraining  eti- 
quette. "  My  Ian' !  "  she  cried.  "  I  suppose 
if  you  seen  a  man  drownin',  before  you'd 
jump  in  to  grab  him  out  you'd  stan'  an'  ask 
him  was  annybody  off  huntin'  him  a  life- 
preserver  ?  " 

Burns  laughed.  "I  don't  think  there  is 
any  professional  etiquette  on  drowning 
cases,"  he  answered.  "  So  your  friend  feels 
sore  about  his  father  ?  " 

"  Well,  wouldn'  you  ?  But  the  quare 
thing  that  happened !  Yiste'day  mornin' 
whin  he  was  jest  after  tellin'  me  about  it, 
who  should  come  along,  an'  give  him  a  job, 
but  Mr.  Kimbalton  himself  ?  " 

"  Himself  ?  "  echoed  Burns,  as  if  puzzled. 

"  Yes.  It  was  Mr.  Kimbalton  he  thought 
could  have  saved  his  pa  by  speakin' — an'  he 
wouldn'.  'Twas  to  see  him  that  the  young 


122    THE  PENNY  PHILANTHROPIST 

fella  come  to  Chicago  ;  an'  he  couldn't  git 
nare  him.  Then,  along  he  comes  fer  his 
mornin'  papers  —  an'  gives  me  fri'nd  a  job." 

Burns  nodded.  "  I  see.  And  does  Mr. 
Kimbalton  know  who  he  is  ?  " 

"  He  didn't  whin  he  give  the  job  —  but  he 
foun'  out  later,  I'm  thinkin'." 

"And  Oliphant  thinks  it's  because  of  his 
father's  misfortune  that  he's  being  watched  ?  " 

"Why,  what  else  could  he  think?"  Peggy 
asked,  surprised. 

"  Have  you  no  idea?" 

There  was  no  doubting  the  implication  in 
Burns'  manner. 

"  Why,  wha'  d'  you  mane  ?  "  Peggy  cried 
in  alarm.  "  If  you  could  see  that  young 
fella,  you'd  know  there  ain't  no  more  harm 
in  him  than  -  " 


Burns  broke  in,  quietly  but 
speaking  as  always  with  that  air  of  author- 
ity which  compels  fascinated  attention,  "  I've 
been  a  detective  for  more  than  twenty  years 

—  and  I've  never  met  up  with  a  bad  man  yet 

—  I  mean  a  man  who  is  bad  because  he  likes 
to  be  ;  what  the  long-haired  professors  call 
'  the   criminal   type  '  !     Men  commit  crimes 
when  something  or  other  has  pushed  them 
past  their  limit  of  resistance  ;  and  the  limit 
is  near  or  far  according  to  —  well,  about  a 


TOM  COMES  TO  GRIEF        123 

thousand  things.  Take,  for  example,  this 
dynamite  gang  that  has  been  giving  Mr. 
Kimbalton  so  much  trouble.  Everybody 
thinks,  '  What  bloodthirsty  desperadoes  they 
must  be ! '  Now  the  queer  thing  about 
them  is  that  probably  every  one  of  them 
would  faint  away  if  they  had  to  sit  in  a 
'scientific'  laboratory  and  watch  some  pro- 
fessors carving  up  a  live  dog.  What  is  it 
those  dynamiters  do  ?  They  take  an  alarm 
clock  and  screw  it  to  a  board,  along  with  a 
dry  battery  and  a  coil  and  a  bit  of  wire,  and 
they  connect  it  up  with  a  few  sticks  of  dyna- 
mite. They  put  it  in  the  basement  of  a 
building,  and  wind  the  clock,  and  go  away. 
That's  all.  They're  off  in  some  other  town, 
next  day,  when  they  read  in  the  paper  that 
the  building  was  blown  up  and  half  a  dozen 
men  were  killed — as  many  homes  left  father- 
less and  destitute,  as  well  as  desolate.  They 
don't  realize  what  they're  doing — their  imag- 
ination is  defective — if  they  could  foresee  the 
suffering,  they'd  never  have  the  nerve  to 
cause  it — that's  why  the  vivisectors  would 
paralyze  them." 

Peggy  listened,  round-eyed.  The  man 
had  a  narrative  power,  vivid,  dramatic,  that 
would  have  made  him  a  caliph  in  times  of 
The  Arabian  Nights. 


124   THE  PENNY  PHILANTHROPIST 

Burns  looked  at  his  watch.  "  Am  I  keep- 
ing you  up  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Oh,  no !  I'd  be  up  annyway.  I'm 
waitin'  fer — fer  Mr.  Oliphant  1 " 

"  Late  caller,  isn't  he  ? "  Burns  observed, 
as  if  it  didn't  really  matter. 

Peggy  blushed.  "  It  ain't  jest  a  call,"  she 
said.  "  He's  comin'  here  to  1'ave  some- 
thin'  " 

Burns  studied  her  face,  searchingly — in- 
quisitorially. 

"To  leave  something?"  he  echoed. 

"  Yis,  sir — a  package  ;  he's  gittin'  it  fer  a 
fri'nd,  an*  he  had  no  place  to  kape  it,  so  I 
told  him  he  could  1'ave  it  here." 

Peggy  was  as  near  perplexing  the  cele- 
brated detective  as  anybody  had  come  in  a 
long  time.  He  knew  she  was  a  shrewd, 
worldly-wise  little  person,  as  "chain-light- 
ning quick  "  as  anything  on  the  West  Side. 
He  didn't  believe  she  could  be  ignorant  of 
the  nature  of  Tom  Oliphant's  errand,  unsus- 
picious of  what  she  was  about  to  receive  into 
her  house ;  and  yet !  If  she  were  feign- 
ing innocence,  she  was  doing  it  with  a  con- 
summate art  which  upset  all  his  theories. 
He  had  been  called  to  the  telephone  about 
eight  o'clock,  and  told  by  some  one,  who  said 
he  was  a  loyal  workman  at  Kimbalton's,  that 


TOM  COMES  TO  GRIEF        125 

if  Burns  or  one  of  his  aides  would  be  at 
Peggy's  News  Emporium  on  Halsted  Street, 
two  doors  north  of  Neeley's,  that  evening 
after  ten,  the  man  (Oliphant)  who  was  to 
"  put  over  "  the  third  dynamiting  at  Kimbal- 
ton's,  on  Saturday,  would  be  found  "  with 
the  goods  on  him."  Valuable  clues  too 
often  came  this  way  for  Burns  to  disregard 
one  that  might  be  such ;  so  he  sent  a  man 
over,  got  a  report  that  Tom  Oliphant  had 
been  there  and  gone,  and  another  report  that 
Mr.  Kimbalton's  daughter  was  in  the  place ; 
whereupon,  the  chief  went  in  person  to  the 
scene  of  so  much  probable  action.  That  the 
Oliphant  boy  was  being  used  as  a  tool  by 
the  suspected  malcontents  seemed  to  Burns 
extremely  probable ;  but  whether  Peggy  was 
their  accomplice  or  the  boy's  dupe,  he  could 
not  make  up  his  mind. 

He  was  still  doubtful,  when  Tom  come  in. 
Burns,  hearing  the  shop-bell  ring,  stepped 
aside  so  that  Tom  could  not  see  him  until 
fairly  in  the  kitchen,  but  so  that  he  could  see 
if  Peggy  made  any  attempt  to  signal  him. 

"  I  hope  I  haven't  kept  you  up  too  awfully 
late,"  Tom  apologized  to  Peggy.  "  It  was  at 
the  end  of  the  world — that  place.  I  think 
McNabb  had  his  nerve  with  him." 

He  came  down  the  steps.     Under  his  arm 


126    THE  PENNY  PHILANTHROPIST 

was  an  oblong  box,  wrapped  in  paper  and 
tied  with  a  stout  string. 

The  boy  looked  startled  when  he  saw 
Burns,  and  betrayed  his  recognition  of  the 
detective. 

"  You  know  who  I  am  ? "  Burns  said, 
stepping  forward. 

"  I've  had  you  pointed  out  to  me  as  Burns." 

"By  whom?" 

"  By  Mr.  McNabb." 

Burns  showed  surprise  at  Tom's  ready 
answer. 

"  Friend  of  yours  ?  " 

"  An  acquaintance." 

"Hml  What  have  we  here?"  touching 
the  box. 

"  I  don't  know,"  Tom  answered. 

"  Where  did  you  get  it  ?  " 

"  I'm  keeping  it  for  some  one " 

"For  whom?" 

"I  don't  know— but  I  think  it "  Tom 

checked  himself  suddenly.  There  was  an 
insolent  disbelief  in  Burns'  look.  The  de- 
tective suspected  somebody  of  something. 
Tom  would  be  careful  how  he  incriminated 
McNabb  on  a  supposition.  Once  these  de- 
tectives got  an  idea  in  their  minds,  it  was 
hard  to  dislodge ;  and  not  every  innocent 
man  can  prove  his  innocence ! 


TOM  COMES  TO  GRIEF        127 

"  You  think  what  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know,"  Tom  answered,  with  his 
first  show  of  sullenness. 

Burns  took  the  box,  broke  the  string  with 
a  quick  wrench,  lifted  the  cover,  and  took  out 
— an  alarm  clock,  a  dry  battery,  a  coil,  and  a 
half  dozen  sticks  of  dynamite. 

Peggy  gave  a  little,  stifled  cry  of  horror. 
Tom  stared  at  the  stuff  uncomprehend- 
ingly. 

"You  don't  know  what  these  are  for,  I 
suppose  ?  "  Burns  asked,  with  a  sneer. 

"  No,  I  don't !  Of  course  you  don't  believe 
me  1  How  could  I  expect  any  one  to  believe 
that  I  don't  know  what  I  went  for,  or  who 
sent  me  ?  I'm  in  for  it — that's  all ! " 

"It's  the  truth  he's  tellin'  you  I"  Peggy 
cried,  catching  Burns  by  the  arm  imploringly. 
"It  was  me  got  him  to  do  it — tellin'  him 
mos'  like  it  was  a  Chris'mas  present.  He 
didn*  know " 

"  You  didn't  know,"  Burns  corrected, 
pushing  her  gently  away. 

"It's  no  use,  Peggy  1 "  Tom  cried,  savagely. 
"  They've  got  me — it's,  a  frame-up.  I  haven't 
done  anything — but  I  wish  to  God  I  had  !  I 
wish  I'd  given  you,"  to  Burns,  "  a  run  for 
your  money  !  Good-bye,  Peggy — and  thank 
you." 


128  THE  PENNY  PHILANTHROPIST 

"  Thank  me  ? "  sobbed  Peggy.  "  You 
ought  to  curse  the  day  you  seen  me  !  " 

As  Burns  and  Tom  went  out,  they  passed 
Polly  coming  in. 

"  What  did  he  get  pinched  for  ?  "  she  asked, 
curiously. 

Peggy  did  not  answer. 

Polly  went  into  the  little  bedroom  and  lit 
the  gas. 

Still  Peggy  stood  at  the  foot  of  the  steps 
and  looked  towards  the  street  door. 

"  I  knew  you'd  get  in  wrong  some  time — 
makin'  friends  with  all  the  queers  that  come 
along,"  Polly  called  from  within. 

Peggy  went  wearily  up  into  the  shop, 
locked  the  door,  and  turned  out  the  light. 
Then  she  came  back  into  the  kitchen,  turned 
out  the  light  there,  and  dragged  herself 
droopingly  across  the  dark  room  towards  the 
bedroom  door. 

The  instant  she  had  got  inside,  Petie  raised 
his  head  to  reconnoitre  ;  then  grabbed  his 
clothes  and  shoes.  Scrambling  into  them  as 
he  went,  and  trembling  with  excitement,  he 
crept  stealthily  up  into  the  shop,  opened  the 
door  gently,  and  disappeared  into  Halsted 
Street. 


XIII 

In  Which  Tom  Is  Enwrapped  In  Ltixury 

"^  TOU  understand,  Oliphant,"  Burns 
|j  said  when  he  and  Tom  left  Peggy's, 
JL  "  that  you  are  not  under  arrest.  I 
will,  of  course,  have  you  arrested  at  any  mo- 
ment that  you  demand  it.  But  if  you  are  will- 
ing to  consider  yourself  my — well,  my  guest 
— for  a  while — perhaps  only  for  to-night — I'd 
greatly  prefer  it.  What  do  you  say  ?  " 

"  I  wish  I  knew  what  Spanish  Inquisition 
business  you  are  up  to  1 "  Tom  cried,  hotly. 
"  But  I  don't  see  what  I  can  do  about  it ! 
I'm  up  against  it,  whatever  way  I  turn.  Go 
ahead.  Do  what  you  like.  You've  got  my 
finish  framed,  and  I  can't  see  what  difference 
it  makes  to  me  how  I  get  it." 

"You're  talking  wild,  Oliphant,"  the  de- 
tective said,  quietly.  "  This  is  a  country 
where  every  man  is  innocent,  in  the  eyes  of 
the  law,  until  he's  proved  guilty.  I  have  no 
reason  to  believe  that  ever,  in  my  whole  ca- 
reer as  a  detective,  I  have  prosecuted,  let 
alone  got  conviction  for,  an  innocent  person. 
129 


130    THE  PENNY  PHILANTHROPIST 

I  hope  I  am  not  going  to  begin  that  kind  of 
sorry  business  now." 

"  That's  a  grand  thing  to  tell  me  1 "  Tom 
retorted,  savagely.  "  Look  at  my  dad  1 " 

"  Did  I  prosecute  your  dad,  or  have  any- 
thing to  do  with  his  conviction  ?  " 

"  No  ;  but  your  boss  did  !  " 

"  I  have  no  boss." 

"Well,  this  man  Kimbalton  that  you're 
working  for  now." 

They  walked  along  in  silence  for  a  few  mo- 
ments. It  was  a  snowy  night,  and  a  sharp 
north  wind  was  blowing  in  their  faces.  Burns 
made  no  effort  to  restrain  Tom  or  to  prevent 
his  escape.  But  even  Tom,  unused  as  he  was 
to  police  methods,  knew  how  futile  it  would 
be  to  try  to  elude  this  man.  Burns  might  let 
him  do  it ;  but  in  five  minutes  there  would 
be  a  police  drag-net  out  that  he  could  not 
hope  to  evade.  So,  although  he  could  not 
guess  whither  he  might  be  going,  Tom  went 
unresistingly. 

As  if  he  had  not  heard  Tom's  last  remark, 
Burns  said,  presently : 

"  Where  d'you  live  ?  " 

"  Antlers  Hotel,  on  Madison." 

"  Any  reason  why  you'd  like  to  stop  there 
on  our  way  ?  " 

"No."  ' 


WRAPPED  IN  L  UXUR  Y         131 

"  All  right." 

They  turned  west  at  Monroe  Street.  It 
was  a  little  easier  to  talk,  here. 

"  Boy,"  began  Burns,  "  I'm  going  to  tell 
you  something  :  I  never  saw  Kimbalton  until 
a  week  ago — after  the  second  dynamiting  at 
his  place.  But  I  know  a  good  deal  about 
that  case  in  which  your  father  was  sent  up ; 
and  if  my  long  experience  in  bank  protection 
serves  me  right,  your  father  was  only  a  fool 
— not  a  knave.  But  I  don't  believe  Kimbal- 
ton knew  any  of  the  facts ;  all  he  knew,  or 
knows,  is  what  the  president  told  him.  He 
knows  the  president — probably  likes  him, 
personally  ;  he  doesn't  know  your  dad — and 
there  you  are  !  That's  human  nature,  boy  : 
if  somebody  is  a  rascal,  it  can't  be  that  pleas- 
ant person  you  know — it  must  be  that  other 
whom  you  haven't  seen.  Kimbalton's  a 
shrewd  man — about  some  things  I — very  ; 
but  nobody's  shrewd  about  everything.  He 
was  the  heaviest  creditor  of  that  bank  in  the 
corn  belt ;  somebody  had  been  peculating 
and  speculating — ain't  it  funny  more  people 
don't  see  how  near  alike  those  words  are  ? — 
and  something  had  to  go  through.  If  Kim- 
balton had  known  your  dad  and  not  the  other 
fellow,  he'd  have  fought  the  other  way.  I'd 
like  to  take  the  matter  up  with  him,  and  tell 


132    THE  PENNY  PHILANTHROPIST 

him  what  I  think.  But  you've  kind  of  closed 
the  door  on  that,  I  guess.  I  don't  mind  tell- 
ing you,  boy,  I'm  sorry  you  let  McNabb  make 
a  tool  of  you.  What's  the  matter  ?  Does  it 
run  in  your  family  to  be  dupes  ?  " 

By  all  the  laws  of  Burns'  experience  this 
should  have  made  the  boy  very  angry  ;  made 
him  cry  out  that  he  was  no  dupe — and  then 
go  on,  in  his  passionate  desire  to  establish  his 
intelligence,  to  incriminate  himself,  and  others. 
Instead,  he  made  no  reply ;  but  seemed  lost 
in  his  own  bitter  reflections. 

Presently  they  made  another  turn,  and  in 
a  few  moments  stopped  at  an  old  dwelling ; 
it  was  a  detached  house,  of  brick,  with  a 
white-stone  front,  and  even  in  the  blustering 
night  showed  sharp  differences  from  its  neigh- 
bours. They  evinced  their  fallen  estate : 
their  wooden  steps  sagged  ;  their  front  doors 
bespoke  hard  usage ;  their  sidewalks  and  in- 
finitesimal bits  of  front  yard — handkerchief 
size — had  a  long-unshovelled  look ;  their 
windows  were  either  rakish  or  sullen,  like  the 
two  types  of  hard,  ungenteel  poverty  they 
housed.  This  place  to  whose  door  they 
mounted  was  scrupulously  kept  as  if  the  New 
England  housewifely  spirit  of  Lucy  Kimbal- 
ton  still  directed  its  maintenance. 

Burns  rang.     An  elderly  woman  came  to 


WRAPPED  IN  L  UXUR  Y         133 

the  door.  Burns  nodded  to  her.  It  was  as 
if  she  expected  him. 

"  This  is  the  young  man  Mr.  Kimbalton 
'phoned  you  would  stay  here  to-night,"  he 
said.  "  Make  him  as  comfortable  as  you 
can." 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"  Good-night,  Oliphant.  Ask  for  anything 
you  want.  I'll  see  you  to-morrow." 

"  Would  you  care  to  go  right  to  your 
room,  sir  ?  "  the  caretaker  asked  Tom,  when 
the  door  had  closed  on  Burns'  retreating  fig- 
ure. 

"  If  you  please." 

She  led  the  way  up  the  stairs.  The  house 
was  lighted  with  gas,  and  there  was  a  newell 
post  at  the  foot  of  the  stairs,  as  well  as  a  sort 
of  hanging  lantern  on  a  level  with  the  tran- 
som of  the  front  door  and  illumining  the 
house  number  thereon ;  both  were  of  white 
ground  glass,  etched,  and  had  dangling 
prisms  of  dazzling  cleanness.  The  door  into 
the  front  parlour  stood  open,  and  Tom  got  a 
glimpse,  as  he  mounted,  of  a  delightfully 
quaint  room.  There  was  only  one  gas-jet 
burning  in  the  chandelier  with  its  tall  crystal 
globes  shaped  like  old  candle-protectors,  and 
he  had  but  a  glance  within  ;  but  that  glance 
revealed  an  antiquated  landscape  wall-paper, 


134   THE  PENNY  PHILANTHROPIST 

in  tones  of  soft  grays  and  whites,  and  a  gen- 
eral impression  of  good  old  mahogany. 

Certainly  there  could  hardly  have  been  a 
strange  house  which  conveyed  less  sug- 
gestion of  sinister  intent.  The  guest  room  to 
which  Tom  was  shown  was  the  large  front 
room  on  the  top  floor — the  second  above  the 
parlour — and  there  was  a  glowing  hard-coal 
fire  in  the  small  iron  grate  beneath  the  white 
marble  mantel ;  this,  the  housekeeper  ex- 
plained, because  the  furnace  heat  did  not  al- 
ways "  come  up  good."  There  was  a  huge 
four-poster  bed,  with  a  tasselled  dimity  tester 
and  a  valance,  and  a  crocheted  counterpane 
with  knotted  fringe.  Tom  had  never  been  in 
a  room  so  full  of  charm.  Candles  burned  in 
the  tall  glass  protectors  on  the  mantel-shelf. 
There  was  a  chintz-covered  easy  chair  before 
the  fire.  The  walls  had  a  paper  of  impalpa- 
ble shades,  that  gave  the  effect  of  plumy 
branches  waving  in  a  mild  breeze.  There 
was  a  pitcher  of  water  and  a  night  candle, 
with  matches,  by  his  bedside.  On  the  wash- 
stand  was  every  requisite  for  the  toilet ;  and 
lying  across  the  bottom  of  the  bed,  whose 
covers  were  turned  back  ready  for  him  to  get 
in,  was  a  nightshirt. 

To  a  homesick  boy  fresh  from  The  Antlers, 
with  its  single  rooms  at  twenty-five  cents  a 


WRAPPED  IN  LUXURY         135 

night,  this  place  would  have  been  all  but  un- 
nerving in  any  event.  As  it  was,  he  could 
only  with  difficulty  keep  up  a  show  of  com- 
posure in  the  presence  of  the  elderly  woman 
who  was  so  eager  to  make  him  comfortable. 
When  he  had  sufficiently  assured  her  that 
he  wanted  nothing,  she  withdrew.  Tom  sat 
down  to  think.  This  was  the  twentieth  cen- 
tury ;  it  was  not  possible,  he  tried  to  convince 
himself,  that  men,  even  with  so  great  power 
as  Andrew  Kimbalton's  wealth  gave  him, 
should  seize  and  shut  up,  without  accounting 
to  any  one,  a  poor  wretch  who  had  displeased 
them.  Those  times  were  in  the  darker  ages. 
He  must  be  calm.  At  least  there  was  one 
stout-hearted  little  creature  who  knew  that 
Burns  had  taken  her  new  friend  and  would 
not  easily  be  denied  an  accounting  for  him. 
So  this  was  Kimbalton's  house,  was  it? 
What  was  his  need  of  such  a  place  ?  Tom 
looked  about  him  with  a  grim  amusement 
that  his  apprehension  could  not  quench.  He 
had  been  as  ardent  a  reader  as  most  boys  of 
the  historical  romances  that  abound  in  dun- 
geons and  moats  and  keeps  and  warders,  and 
seneschals,  and  trembling  prisoners  who  were 
dispatched  as  their  captor  ordered,  and  none 
that  loved  them  ever  knew  in  what  dark,  rat- 
infested  hole  their  bones  mildewed.  Was  it 


136    THE  PENNY  PHILANTHROPIST 

possible  that  twentieth  century  robber-barons 
had  their  condemned  put  to  death  in  mahog- 
any four-posters  ? 

Thus  and  thus  Tom  tried  to  laugh  away 
his  fears.  Presently  he  got  up,  tiptoed  across 
the  room,  and  noiselessly  opened  the  door. 
There  was  not  a  sound  in  the  house.  Should 
he  try  to  escape  ?  What  would  be  the  use  ? 
Burns  could  get  him  back,  no  matter  where 
he  got  to.  Still,  just  to  satisfy  himself  what 
was  the  intent  towards  him,  he  thought  he 
would  go  down  through  those  pleasantly- 
lighted  halls,  and  see  if  any  one  would  stop 
him.  They  would  hardly  shoot.  Tom  had 
sturdy  sense  enough  to  know  that  Kimbal- 
ton's  minions  would  not  do  that,  save  in  self- 
defense.  He  went  down,  boldly — though  his 
heart  was  beating  wildly  ;  no  one  impeded 
him.  He  opened  the  front  door ;  no  one 
seemed  to  care.  Then  the  folly  of  running 
away  came  to  him :  it  would  be  like  a  con- 
fession of  guilt.  He  crept  up  the  stairs  again, 
and  into  his  room,  and  went  to  bed.  The 
morrow  must  bring  what  it  would. 

And  Burns'  man,  on  guard  in  the  silent 
house,  listened  and  smiled.  His  instructions 
were,  if  Tom  went  out  to  shadow  him  and 
see  whom  he  warned. 

In   the   morning,   Tom   was   served   with 


WRAPPED  IN  L  UXUR  Y         137 

grape-fruit  and  oatmeal  and  bacon  and  eggs, 
toast  and  coffee,  at  Lucy  Kimbalton's  dull- 
finished  mahogany  table  set  with  white  doilies 
and  blue-and-white  china.  After  breakfast, 
he  sat  by  an  open  fire  in  the  back  parlour,  and 
read  the  morning  papers.  There  was  a  tele- 
phone on  the  wall — one  of  the  earliest  in- 
stalled in  Chicago  homes — and  he  wished,  as 
he  looked  at  it,  that  he  knew  how  to  send 
Peggy  word  he  was  safe — so  far.  But  he 
could  think  of  no  one  to  call  except  Neeley's  ; 
and  he  wouldn't  ask  her  to  go  in  there.  As 
the  morning  wore  on  and  no  one  came,  he 
buried  himself  in  "  A  Tale  of  Two  Cities." 


XIV 

In  Which  Tom  Makes  a  Sudden  Decision 

IT  was  two-thirty  on  Saturday  afternoon 
before  Burns  came  back — smiling. 
Somehow,  a  report  had  got  out  that 
Burns  had  "nabbed"  the  Kimbalton  dyna- 
miter. It  might  have  come  from  Peggy,  or 
her  household :  if  they  had  told  the  police- 
man on  their  beat,  it  would  not  have  taken 
long  for  word  to  reach  Desplaines  Street  sta- 
tion and  the  hungry  police  reporters.  At 
any  rate,  Burns'  office  was  in  a  state  of  siege 
by  young  men — not  with  note-books ;  oh, 
dear,  no !  fancy  a  reporter  deigning  to  take 
notes  !  but  with  news-sense  as  keen  as  hounds' 
scent,  and  minds  full  of  impressionistic  phrases 
with  which,  after  all,  facts  would  have  very 
little  relation.  And  Kimbalton's  down-town 
and  West  Side  offices  were  in  the  same  state 
of  siege.  Even  his  house,  where  the  veriest 
"cub"  knew  better  than  to  look  for  Andrew 
Kimbalton  after  6 : 30  A.  M.,  till  towards 
evening,  was  lightly  bombarded ;  but  the 
English  butler,  at  the  door  and  'phone,  gave 
the  impression  that  dynamiters  could  hardly 
138 


A  SUDDEN  DECISION         139 

be  expected  to  interest  that  august  house- 
hold ;  certainly,  if  any  had  been  caught,  no 
one  in  milord's  castle  had  condescended  to 
mention  the  fact — or  words  to  that  effect. 

Burns  had  laughed  good-humouredly  at 
the  besieging  squad. 

"  What  did  the  report  say  I  did  with  him  ?  " 
he  teased.  "  Tried,  convicted,  executed  and 
buried  him  myself,  in  the  dead  o'  night  ? 
Boys !  boys !  what's  come  over  you  ?  If  I 
had  a  dynamiter,  where  would  I  be  keeping 
him?" 

"  That's  what  we  want  to  know ! "  they 
cried. 

Whereupon  Burns  laughed  more  merrily 
even  than  before.  "Why,"  he  said,  as  he 
was  retiring  to  his  private  office,  "  you  sur- 
prise me.  Go  back  and  talk  to  your  law  de- 
partments— or  read  history.  The  Bastille 
fell  a  hundred  and  some  years  ago.  If  we 
arrest  and  confine  men  now,  it  is  on  warrant, 
and  a  matter  of  public  record ;  there  are  no 
secret  dungeons  for  offenders  against  the 
great.  Boys  !  boys ! " 

This  was  true  ;  but  not  one  of  the  "  boys  " 
believed  it  was  the  whole  truth.  They  took 
themselves  off,  and  each  one  strove  to  make 
the  others  think  he  believed  Burns  and  had 
dropped  the  story;  then  tried  to  elude  the 


140    THE  PENNY  PHILANTHROPIST 

others  and  do  a  little  Sherlocking.  It  would 
be  something  in  a  fellow's  cap  to  outwit 
Burns  and  "  scoop  "  the  dynamite  story  for 
his  paper;  yes,  and  something  in  all  his 
weekly  envelopes  thereafter  ! 

And  Burns,  who  knew  exactly  what  the 
boys  meant  to  do,  was  smiling  because  he 
had  been  what  he  called  "  a  little  careful "  in 
coming  here,  and  he  couldn't  help  feeling 
mildly  amused  at  the  whole  situation. 

The  amusement  did  not  lessen  when  he 
discovered  Tom  basking  before  an  open  fire 
and  vicariously  suffering  the  terrors  of  the 
French  Revolution. 

"  Well,"  he  asked,  as  Tom  closed  the  book, 
"  how  goes  it  ?  " 

"  I  have  been  physically  comfortable,"  the 
boy  answered,  curtly.  "  But  if  you  have 
come  to  consult  me,  I  prefer  jail.  There,  I 
know  what  I'm  up  against ;  here,  I  don't." 

Burns  shrugged.  "As  you  like,"  he  said, 
indifferently — and  passed  on  through  the 
room  and  down  the  basement  stairs  to  the 
kitchen,  to  speak  to  the  caretaker,  and  to  the 
man  who  had  been  on  guard. 

From  the  front  basement  Burns  hailed 
Kimbalton  when  he  saw  the  latter  approach- 
ing, and  led  the  way  to  the  rear.  Andrew 
Kimbalton  was  no  stranger  to  that  back 


A  SUDDEN  DECISION         141 

kitchen  with  its  big  range  recessed  beneath 
a  brick  chimney-place  ;  its  braided  rugs  ;  its 
dresser  full  of  blue  and  white,  of  pewter,  and 
of  copper  lustre  ;  its  plants  in  the  west  win- 
dow ;  and  its  sink  above  which  the  shining 
tin  dipper  hung.  At  any  of  his  homes,  the 
kitchen  was  strange  territory,  tyrannized  over 
by  his  foreign  chef.  But  when  he  came  to 
this  house,  Kimbalton  seldom  failed  to  visit 
the  kitchen,  and  to  drink  from  the  tin  dipper : 
a  homely  pastime  elsewhere  denied  him. 

There  he  and  Burns  conferred — while  Tom 
sat  up-stairs,  and  wondered  what  was  going 
to  happen  to  him.  And  as  he  wondered, 
suddenly  there  came  to  him  one  of  those  in- 
explicable swift  changes  of  purpose  which 
come,  at  times,  to  us  all :  he  had  given  up 
without  a  fight ;  he  had  not  made  even  a 
show  of  resistance  to  tyranny.  The  man 
who  had  jailed  his  father  was  now  going  to 
jail  him — likewise  without  cause.  Could 
worse  have  befallen  father  and  son  at  the 
hands  of  one  overlord  in  those  times  the 
French  Revolution  rose  to  put  an  end  to  ? 
Of  what  stuff  was  he  made  that  he  should 
bow  his  head  unresistingly  to  the  power  of 
money  and  say  that  he  was  impotent  against 
it  ?  The  rage  in  him  that  had  been  sullen 
leaped,  now,  in  sudden  flame.  He  stepped 


142    THE  PENNY  PHILANTHROPIST  ^ 

out  into  the  front  hall.  The  caretaker  had 
brought  down  from  his  room  and  hung  on 
the  hall-tree  his  hat  and  coat  The  very  act 
was  a  taunt ;  as  if  they  knew  he  dared  not 
leave.  He  seized  them,  opened  the  door, 
and — was  away,  his  back  turned  upon  The 
Antlers  and  on  Halsted  Street,  when  Burns 
came  up-stairs  to  tell  him  that  he  apologized 
for  detaining  him,  hoped  he  had  not  suffered 
any  great  inconvenience,  and  begged  that  he 
would  consider  his  movements  unrestricted. 

"  It's  a  bit  queer,"  Burns  observed  to  Kim- 
balton  ;  "  for  when  I  went  down-stairs,  he 
was  sullen,  but  passive — as  if  he  had  figured 
it  all  out  and  assured  himself  how  little  good 
it  would  do  him  to  run.  I  didn't  say  any- 
thing to  him — didn't  want  to  until  I  had  seen 
how  you  felt  about  letting  him  go.  I  can't 
quite  get  his  sudden  shift ;  and  I'm  not  as 
sure  about  him  as  I  felt  five  minutes  ago. 
This  is  a  sharp  game  we're  up  against,  Kim- 
balton.  Those  fellows  are  not  bunglers — 
they  know  something  of  strategy.  They  in- 
sist that  this  is  war — openly  declared,  and  to 
be  fought  to  a  finish.  Well !  the  finish  is  not 
in  sight  yet.  I'll  get  that  boy  back.  And 
next  time  we'll  hold  on  to  him." 

Before  Tom  had  gone  a  mile,  the  drag-net 
was  out  for  him. 


XV 
In  Which  Anne  Kimbalton  Wins  a  Point 

KIMBALTON  and  Burns  were  still  in 
conference  in  the  library  when  the 
front  door-bell  rang,  and  the  care- 
taker asked  what  she  should  do. 

"  Open  ;  but  don't  let  any  one  in,"  Kim- 
balton gave  order  ;  and  he  and  Burns  hushed 
their  conversation  so  they  could  hear  what 
was  said  at  the  door. 

"  Why,  it's  Anne  !  "  her  father  exclaimed, 
jumping  to  his  feet.  "  My  dear  girl,  what 
brings  you  here  ?  " 

"  I — why,  I  have  an  appointment  here," 
she  answered.  "  I  haven't  seen  you  since  I 
made  it.  I  never  dreamed  it  might  be  in- 
truding on  you." 

"  Of  course  not,  dear.  But  it  just  happens 
that  I — and  I — isn't  it  a  bit  extraordinary  for 
you  to  have  appointments  here?" 

She  laughed.  "  It's  like  a  French  farce — 
only  perfectly  respectable  1  I  discover  you 
in  a  business  conference.  You  surprise  me 
in  an  adventure  in  philanthropy." 


144    THE  PENNY  PHILANTHROPIST 

She  described  to  him  the  occasion  for  her 
coming.  He  was  skeptical  about  the  pos- 
sible results. 

"  Look  at  the  money  I've  spent  in  what 
they  call  Welfare  Work.  And  who  thanked 
me  for  it?  You  say  those  girls  have  no 
place  to  go,  evenings.  What's  the  matter 
with  those  great  recreation  rooms  fitted  up 
at  such  expense — gymnasium,  and  every- 
thing?" 

"  These  girls  don't  work  for  you." 

"  But  the  girls  who  do  work  for  me — hun- 
dreds of  'em — don't  go  there,  either.  Pale- 
faced  fellows,  with  what  that  newspaper  critic 
calls  'lyric  hair,'  come  around  and  tell  me 
that  I  ought  to  be  ashamed  because  the  girls 
I  pay  wages  to  dance  in  saloon  halls.  So  I 
build  them  a  big  hall  to  dance  in — fit  it  up 
in  great  style — and  do  they  come  to  it  ? 
They  do  not !  I  think  it's  bully  of  you  to 
think  this  pretty  little  scheme  out,  and  try 
to  help.  And  of  course,  you  can  go  ahead 
with  it  if  you  like.  But  I'm  afraid  you're 
going  to  be  a  disappointed  young  Samaritan. 
Give  'em  your  penny  a  day,  or  your  dollar, 
and  let  'em  spend  it.  But  don't  try  to  uplift 
them — because  I  can  tell  you,  after  an  ex- 
pensive experience,  they  don't  want  to  be 
uplifted." 


ANNE  WINS  A  POINT          145 

Anne's  eyes  twinkled  with  merriment. 
"  The  sodden  wretches !  "  she  cried.  "  They 
shall  perish  in  their  mire  of  unenlightenment. 
I'll  send  them  away,  when  they  come.  And 
then,  will  you  do  something  for  me  ?  " 

"  Why,  of  course — if  I  can,"  he  agreed  ; 
but  he  was  rather  puzzled,  because  usually 
Anne  had  more  of  his  pertinacity. 

"  There's  a  performance  of  '  Die  Gotter- 
dammerung '  at  the  Opera,  to-night,"  she  said. 
"  It's  not  our  night ;  but  I  want  to  go.  Won't 
you  take  me  ?  " 

He  stared.  "You  know  I  hate  opera,"  he 
reminded  her ;  "  makes  me  go  to  sleep. 
And  that  one  of  all  others !  lasts  all  night, 
and  not  a  tune  in  it.  Anne,  dear !  " 

She  looked  shocked.  "  Oh,  dadda  !  Why, 
music-lovers  are  transported  by  it." 

"  Humph ! " 

"  And  I've  invited  such  an  interesting  man 
to  luncheon  to-morrow.  He  has  promised  to 
talk  to  us  about  the  Niebelungen  trilogy. 
What  will  he  think,  when  he  learns  that  you 
wouldn't  even  go  to-night  ?  " 

Kimbalton's  expression  of  despair  would 
have  wrought  sympathy  in  any  one  but  his 
daughter. 

"  I  can't  help  it,  Anne  ! "  he  cried.  "  But 
that  stuff  just  doesn't  get  me.  When  I  go 


146    THE  PENNY  PHILANTHROPIST 

after  a  good  time,  I  want  to  laugh.  Harry 
Lauder  for  me,  and  dog  take  Wagner !  " 

She  was  struggling  with  the  twitching 
corners  of  her  mouth.  "  Isn't  there  any  one 
I  can  uplift  ?  "  she  wailed,  disconsolately. 

He  looked  his  reproach  full  at  her  for  a 
second  ;  then  pounced,  as  if  she  were  a  little 
girl  and  he  would  catch  and  soundly  spank 
her. 

"  Oh,  all  right  1 "  he  cried.  "  My  hands 
are  up,  my  weapons  down.  Go  ahead  with 
your  elevating — only  don't  take  advantage 
of  a  defenseless  fellow  that  has  surrendered. 
Elevate  what  you  can  find  to  struggle  with — 
but  please  spare  father  !  " 

And,  grinning  with  delight  at  her  victory, 
he  withdrew  to  the  library  and  closed  behind 
him  the  folding  doors. 


XVI 

In   Which   Anne  Makes  a  Frank  Declaration 

IT  was  Anne  herself  who  opened  the  door 
when  the  girls  rang.  She  was  dismayed 
not  to  see  Peggy. 

"  At  the  las'  minute  she  couldn'  get 
away,"  Alma  explained.  "  Neither  o'  them 
kids  was  there  to  tend  the  store.  I  wanted 
her  to  let  me  stay,  but  she  wouldn't.  She 
said  she'd  be  along  pretty  soon ;  that  Polly 
had  promised  to  get  back  by  four,  but  she 
must  have  forgot  to  keep  watch  of  the  time." 

She  could  not  tell  Anne,  then,  how  at  the 
last  minute  Ida  had  wanted  to  back  out,  and 
it  had  needed  all  Peggy's  diplomacy  to  get 
her  to  come.  Katie  was  naturally  acquies- 
cent, just  as  Ida  was  naturally  suspicious  and 
difficult. 

Ida  was  not  favourably  impressed  with 
these  surroundings ;  Alma  could  see  that, 
and  could  sympathize  with  it.  She  herself 
would  have  been  chilled  and  put  on  the  de- 
fensive by  them  had  she  not  been  so  com- 
pletely won  to  Anne,  so  convinced  of  her 
sweet  sincerity,  and  so  eager  to  help  her. 


148  THE  PENNY  PHILANTHROPIST 

Peggy  had  told  the  girls  that  morning,  as 
they  passed  on  their  way  to  work,  that  Annie 
wanted  to  ask  their  advice ;  that  she  was 
getting  up  something,  and  wanted  their  help. 
Annie's  address  was  reasonably  reassuring 
to  Ida,  but  the  air  of  the  house  was  not :  the 
bitterly  proud  Russian  girl  scented  benevo- 
lence, and  was  ready  to  decline  it  resentfully, 
even  with  wrath. 

Anne  could  feel  this  defiance,  and  at  first  it 
discouraged  her  ;  then  it  put  her  on  her  mettle. 

"  I  had  such  a  good  time  at  Peggy's,  last 
night,"  she  said,  by  way  of  explaining  her 
invitation,  "  that  I  thought  it  would  be  nice 
if  we  had  a  little  club  or  something — so  we 
could  meet  regular,  and  get  up  things,  and 
all  that.  Sometimes  we  could  go  to  Peggy's, 
and  sometimes  we  could  come  here.  What 
do  you  think?" 

"It  costs  money  to  do  things,"  Ida  has- 
tened to  answer ;  "  and  we  can't  pay  fer  fun. 
And  it  takes  time.  I  know  I  ain't  got  time 
to  belong  to  no  club.  Katie  kin  speak  fer 
herself — an'  Alma." 

"Would  it  be  a  pleasure  club?"  Katie 
asked,  her  slow  suspicions  aroused  by  fear  of 
something  educational. 

Anne  smiled  as  she  remembered  her  father. 
"  Oh,  of  course,"  she  said. 


A  FRANK  DECLARATION      149 

"  I'm  obliged,"  Ida  broke  in,  abruptly ; 
"  but  I  ain't  got  time  fer  pleasure." 

"Well,"  Anne  interposed,  "maybe  your 
pleasure  and  Katie's  wouldn't  be  just  the 
same.  You  like  to  sit  around  and  talk — 
don't  you  ?  That  doesn't  cost  anything ;  but 
it's  nice  to  have  some  place  you  can  go  and 
meet  people  you  like — isn't  it  ?  " 

"When  I  want  to  do  that,  I  can  go  to 
Peggy's.  What  do  I  need  of  another  place  ? 
Of  a  club?" 

"  I— I  don't  know,"  Anne  faltered  ;  "  that's 
what  I  wanted  to  ask  you." 

Alma  yearned  to  step  into  the  breach,  but 
didn't  know  just  how  and  was  afraid  to  ven- 
ture lest  she  make  it  wider. 

Ida  rose  from  her  seat  on  Lucy  Kimbal- 
ton's  haircloth-covered  sofa  with  the  lovely 
lines. 

"  Excuse  me,"  she  said ;  "  I  don't  know 
who  you  are,  ner  what  you're  after.  But 
there's  something  queer  about  this,  and  it 
don't  strike  me  right.  You're  not  our  sort, 
and  you  can't  understand  us.  Peggy  ought 
to  of  known  that.  I  guess  you  mean  all 
right ;  an'  maybe  Katie,  here,  might  be  in- 

teresfed  in  your  scheme.  But  I Well, 

if  I  get  out,  perhaps  you'll  get  on  better." 

She  made  a  move  towards  the  door,  but 


150    THE  PENNY  PHILANTHROPIST 

Anne  laid  a  pleading  hand  on  her,  restrain- 
ingly. 

"Wait!"  she  begged.  "You're  right! 
There  is  something  queer  about  this,  and  it 
won't  do.  I  tried  it  because  I  thought  maybe 
I  could  make  you  like  me,  and  trust  me, 
if  we  could  get  acquainted  this  way.  We 
can't — I  see.  I'm  Anne  Kimbalton  " — Katie 
gasped,  but  Ida  was  less  surprised  ;  she  had 
not  suspected  just  this,  but  was  prepared  for 

it  in  kind  if  not  in  degree — "and  I 

What  can  I  say?  I  feel  as  if  I  ought  to 
apologize  for  myself,  and  yet  as  if,  if  I  were 
in  your  place  and  you  were  in  mine,  I'd  feel 
that  no  apology  could  be  made.  I  have 
been  very — not  deceitful,  but  not " 

"  On  the  level,"  Alma  suggested,  as  Anne 
hesitated  for  a  word. 

"  Yes — that's  it :  not  on  the  level.  Now 
let  me  be  plain  and  frank.  You  girls  work 
hard,  and  you  don't  get  half  enough  for  it 
— you  go  without  the  necessities  of  life.  I 
don't  work  at  all,  and  I  have  everything. 
I  don't  blame  you  if  you  hate  me ;  if  our 
places  were  changed,  I'm  sure  I  should  hate 
you.  But  if  I  could  only  learn  how,  I'd  love 
to  do  something  to  make  things  if  not  right, 
at  least  more  nearly  so  than  they  are  now. 
I'm  in  earnest,  with  all  my  heart.  But  what 


A  FRANK  DECLARATION      151 

can  I  do?  If  you  were  in  my  place,  Ida,  and 
I  were  in  yours,  what  would  you  do  ?  " 

"  Raise  wages,"  Ida  replied,  briefly ;  but 
she  was  perceptibly  softened. 

"  I  can't  raise  your  wages,"  Anne  retorted, 
"because  I  don't  pay  them." 

"  No  ;  but  you,  or  yer  father,  pay  hundreds 
o'  girls.  Do  they  all  get  all  they  earn  ?  Or 
could  they  be  helped  so  they  could  earn 
more?" 

"  I — don't  know,"  Anne  faltered. 

"That's  the  place  fer  you  to  begin,"  Ida 
reminded. 

"  I'll  try,"  Anne  promised.  "  But  of  course 
it  is  father's  business — his  and  the  other  stock- 
holders'— and  I  don't  know  how  much  I  can 
do.  If  it  were  all  his,  you  see,  it  might  be 
different.  He  has  more  money  than  he  wants 
now ;  he  could  well  afford  to  earn  far  less. 
But  there  are  others  interested — and  they  are 
not  satisfied !  Why,  even  Peggy  told  me 
that  Polly  never  gets  through  counting  up 
what  she  could  have  if  Peggy  didn't  give 
away  nearly  four  dollars  a  year !  There  isn't 
one  of  us  who  can  go  very  far  without  con- 
sulting others.  What  I  can  do  is  to  use  my 
own  allowance.  And  that's  what  I'm  trying 
to  find  out  how  to  do  so  it  will  really  help. 
But — you  see  how  it  is !  There  are  a  good 


152    777^  PENNY  PHILANTHROPIST 

many  girls  who  feel  as  I  do,  and  there  are 
so  many  girls  who  feel  as  you  do.  I  don't 
blame  you — I'd  do  just  the  same — but  there 
we  are !  If  you  won't  let  me  do  anything 
for  you,  won't  you  be  my  friend  and  help  me 
do  for  others  ?  " 

She  held  out  her  hand,  appealingly,  and 
Ida  grasped  it.  "  I'm  with  you  on  that,"  she 
agreed. 

Alma  smiled.  She  knew  that  Peggy  had 
passed  Anne  on  to  her  as  one  that  might  be 
helped ;  and  she  had  chosen,  rather,  to  join 
the  helpers  and  make  Ida  the  beneficiary. 
Now,  here  was  Ida  on  their  side — and  they 
were  all  looking  for  some  one  to  be  kind 
to !  If  Katie  were  not  careful,  she  would  be 
borne  down  by  kindnesses  because  she  was 
the  only  willing  recipient. 

Anne,  encouraged,  launched  into  explana- 
tions— and  in  the  midst  of  them,  the  door- 
bell rang. 

"  It's  Peggy,"  Alma  said 

And  it  was — a  breathless  Peggy. 


XVII 

In  Which  Peggy  Gets  Into  Further  Complica- 
tions With  Dynamite 

"  "W~  AN'  sakes  1 "  she  cried,  when  Anne 
admitted  her.  "Who  is  yer  dago 
-* — <•  fri'nd,  an'  what  has  he  got  agin 
yer  havin'  visitors?" 

" '  Dago '  ?  "  Anne  echoed,  blankly. 

"Yes — out  in  front.  He  was  down  in  the 
area  way  whin  he  seen  me,  an'  he  come 
runnin'  out.  '  Where  you  go  ? '  he  says.  I 
didn'  think  it  was  anny  o'  his  business — but 
then  again,  it  might  be — so  I  told  him.  '  No ! ' 
he  says.  4  No ! '  an'  grabbed  holt  of  me. 
That  made  me  mad.  '  I  was  ast  here,'  I  says, 
'  an'  I'll  have  no  janitor  kapein'  me  out  be- 
cause I  didn'  come  in  me  autymobile.'  So 
I  put  down  me  head  an'  charged  like  a  goat 
— you  don't  sell  papers  on  Halsted  twelve 
years  an'  1'arn  nothin' — an'  here  I  am." 

Anne's  face  had  blanched  almost  at  Peggy's 
first  mention  of  a  "dago."  She  knew  a  good 
deal  about  her  father's  difficulties  ;  about  why 
he  was  at  that  moment  conferring  with  Burns. 
And  she  knew  that  no  Italian  could  have  a 
"53 


154    THE  PENNY  PHILANTHROPIST 

reason  for  stopping  Peggy  except  it  were  a 
reason  that  demanded  inquiry. 

Without  waiting  even  for  Peggy  to  finish 
her  amused  account  of  how  she  came  to  the 
party,  Anne  flung  open  the  folding  doors, 
and,  trying  to  speak  steadily  but  to  lose  no 
time,  said : 

"  Mr.  Burns,  there  is  a  suspicious  Italian 
out  in  front.  He  tried  to  stop  Peggy." 

Both  men  jumped  to  their  feet.  Their 
minds  were  full  of  dynamite  terrors,  and 
Anne's  tone  was  very  tense.  Even  although 
it  had  never  occurred  to  them  that  there 
could  be  danger  here,  or  that  their  disturb- 
ers were  aware  there  was  such  a  place  as 

this,  still !  All  this  in  a  flash  of  two 

quick  minds.  And  then — in  another  flash, 
almost  quicker  than  lightning,  another  com- 
mon thought :  Tom ! 

"  Don't  move  till  I  tell  you  ! " 

Burns  went  down  the  basement  stairs  at 
what  seemed  like  a  flying  leap  ;  wrenched 
open  the  front  basement  door ;  thrust  his 
hand  into  a  heap  of  rubbish  which  his  very 
slight  acquaintance  with  the  caretaker's  meth- 
ods made  instantly  suspicious  ;  and  drew  out 
a  gas-pipe  bomb  attached  to  a  ten-minute 
fuse — which  was  not  lighted. 

The  speed  at  which  such  a  brain  works  in 


155 

such  a  moment  is  incomparable  ;  nothing  in 
all  the  marvels  of  nature  or  science  is  a  par- 
allel. 

Burns  made  calculations  on  the  likelihood 
of  there  being  other  bombs  in  other  places, 
with  fuses  burning ;  he  made  calculations  on 
taking  time  to  alarm  the  household  and  tell 
them  to  give  like  alarm  to  those  in  neigh- 
bouring houses,  and  in  a  flash  like  that  of  a 
high-speed  camera  shutter,  he  had  decided 
everything.  If  the  man  was  there  when 
Peggy  came  in  a  minute  ago,  it  was  be- 
cause he  had  not  lighted  his  fuse — once  that 
is  done,  they  never  tarry.  And  even  if  he 
had  sneaked  in  somewhere  and  lighted  one 
since  trying  to  stop  her,  there  would  be  some 
minutes  yet  before  it  could  burn  to  the  cap  ; 
because  the  dynamiters  seldom  leave  them- 
selves less  than  ten  minutes  for  their  get- 
away. Lives  were  safe  for  long  enough  to 
permit  of  his  trying  to  find  the  Italian. 

All  this  he  formulated  without  a  pause  in 
his  catapult  motion.  Also,  that  the  man  he 
sought  would  almost  certainly  not  stay  in 
sight,  if  waiting.  He  had  tried  to  save 
Peggy — he  knew  Tom  well  enough  for  that ! 
The  fellow  would  hide  until  he  saw  Peggy 
come  out.  So  Burns  turned  sharply,  and 
was  back  up-stairs  again  almost  before  the 


156  THE  PENNY  PHILANTHROPIST 

astonished  group  had  grasped  the  paralyz- 
ing situation. 

"  Go  out,  Peggy  ! "  he  ordered.  "  Stand 
on  the  steps — look  about  you — see  if  you 
can't  get  him  out  of  hiding  to  speak  to  you 
again.  Then  hold  him — somehow — till  I  get 
him.  The  rest  of  you  can  go  out  the  back 
way  if  you  are  nervous — but  I  don't  think 
there's  any  danger — yet." 

Even  as  he  spoke,  he  was  urging  Peggy 
towards  the  front  door. 

"  It's  up  to  you,"  he  said,  briefly.  "  Get 
that  dago." 

She  opened  the  front  door  and  went  slowly 
down  the  steps ;  then  paused  irresolutely  at 
their  foot.  Her  man  was  not  in  sight.  She 
started  south,  as  if  going  home,  and  trotted 
briskly  for  a  hundred  and  fifty  feet  or  more. 
When  she  wheeled,  sharply,  she  saw  him. 

Little  Peg  had  her  own  pretty  arts  of 
strategy — like  those  she  had  used  to  keep 
Alma  from  her  desperate  purpose — but  they 
were  in  nowise  adequate  to  an  occasion  like 
this.  She  had  not  the  faintest  idea  how  to 
calculate  the  probable  movements  of  a  dyna- 
miter— what  he  might  do  to  her  or,  if  she 
made  a  false  move,  to  others.  All  she  could 
comprehend  was  that  Burns  had  said  it  was 
"up  to"  her  to  "get  that  dago."  She 


FURTHER  COMPLICATIONS    157 

walked  back,  thinking  hard,  trying  to  decide 
what  she  ought  to  do.  She  looked  as  if  she 
had  forgotten  something  and  was  returning 
for  it.  The  Italian  saw  her  and  drew  back. 
Peggy's  face  was  a  picture  of  despair.  But 
she  had  perfectly  fulfilled  her  mission : 
Burns,  watching,  saw  an  Italian — in  that 
neighbourhood  a  familiar  type — and  by  the 
expression  on  Peggy's  face  knew  him  for  the 
Italian.  In  a  moment  he  was  out  and  had 
him. 

"Come  in,  Peggy,"  he  said.     "We  want 
you." 


XVIII 

In  Which  Lucy  Kimbaltori s  Quaint  Parlour 
is  the  Background  for  a  Strange  Scene 

ANNE  had  told  Alma,  quietly  so  as  to 
avert  any  feeling  of  panic,  but  de- 
cisively, that  she  thought  it  would 
be  better  for  the  girls  to  go  ;  and  she  directed 
them  how  to  leave :  by  the  kitchen  and  back 
through  the  yard  to  the  alley  gate.     When 
Burns  entered  with  his  captive  and  Peggy, 
only    the  Kimbaltons  were  there,  in   Lucy 
Kimbalton's  quaint  parlour. 

At  sight  of  the  Italian,  Kimbalton's  rage 
flamed  into  red  fury  ;  he  had  difficulty  to 
keep  from  seizing  this  creature  and  shaking 
him  into  insensibility.  The  outrages  at  the 
works  had  roused  his  fighting  spirit  and 
made  him  obdurate  ;  but  this  !  this  dastardly 
attempt  to  wreak  vengeance  not  on  him 
alone  but  on  innocent  noncombatants,  here 
in  his  mother's  home,  made  sacred  by  the 
things  she  had  loved  !  How  dared  they  call 
this  war?  (This  being  the  only  war  he  had 
ever  fought  in,  Kimbalton  might,  perhaps,  be 
pardoned  for  supposing  that  any  war's  worst 
158 


A  STRANGE  SCENE  159 

cruelties  are  inflicted  on  the  field  of  battle  ; 
that  in  any  war  the  defenseless  and  noncom- 
batant  are  inviolate,  immune.) 

Kimbalton  was  flame-hot.  Burns  was  cold 
as  chilled  steel.  Because  excitement  made 
him  cool,  not  hot,  he  was  what  he  was. 
Anne  shared  her  father's  anger,  though  in 
less  degree.  Little  Peggy  was  bewildered. 
She  looked  from  Kimbalton  in  his  rage  to 
Burns  in  his  cool  triumph,  and  then  to  the 
trembling  creature  who  had  been  about  to  do 
so  foul  a  deed.  That  she  herself  was  on  the 
rack  as  well  as  he  did  not — of  course — occur 
to  her. 

"  Peggy/'  Burns  asked,  "  did  you  ever  see 
this  man  before  ?  " 

"  Not  that  I  raymimber,"  she  answered, 
shaking  her  head ;  but  her  tone  was  doubt- 
ful, not  positive. 

"Think  hard!" 

"  Sure,  I  am ;  but  I  can't  say.  I  might  of 
seen  him — Halsted  Strate  is  quite  a  place  fer 
seein'  folks — but  I  don't  know  who  he  is  er 
annythin'  about  him — if  that's  what  you 
mane." 

"  You  don't  know  why  he  tried  to  stop  you 
from  coming  in  here  ?  " 

"No." 

"  Well,  I'll  tell  you  !     I  suppose  you  don't 


160   THE  PENNY  PHILANTHROPIST 

know,  either,  who  sent  him  here  to  blow  this 
place  up  ?  " 

"  No.     How  should  I  know  ?  " 

"  That's  what  I'd  like  to  find  out.  What 
have  you  got  in  your  hand  ?  " 

Peggy  looked  down  at  it  as  if,  in  the  ex- 
citement, she  had  forgotten  what  she  did 
have  in  her  hand.  Then  she  held  it  out. 

"  I'm  glad  you  ast  me,"  she  said.  "  It 
come  fer  him  this  mornin' — it's  from  his  ma, 
I  guess — an'  I  brought  it  along  thinkin' 
mebbe  Miss  Kimbalton  could  git  it  to  him." 

Burns  took  the  letter  and  studied  it  for  a 
second.  "  Then  you  haven 't  seen  him  1 "  he 
remarked,  as  if  to  himself. 

Peggy  stared.  "  Seen  him  ?  How  would 
I  see  him  ?  I  dunno  where  he  is.  I  looked 
in  all  the  papers,  an'  niver  a  word  did  I  see 
o'  where  you  took  him  to.  The  avenin' 
papers  says  there  was  a  rumour  that  you  had 
a — dynamiter  ;  but  that  no  such  arrest  had 
been  made.  You  can't  belave  a  word  thim 
papers  says." 

"  Once  in  a  great  while  you  can — and  this 
is  that  one  time.  I  don't  know  where  your 
friend  is,  any  more  than  you  do — but  I  hope 
to  know,  any  minute." 

"  Did  he  give  you  the  slip?"  Peggy  cried, 
incredulously. 


A  STRANGE  SCENE  161 

"  He  did.  He's  a  deep  one — that  boy  !  I 
thought  I  had  his  number — and  then,  I  knew 
I  didn't !  But  I've  got  it  now — and  when  I 
get  him 1 " 

Burns'  look  made  Peggy  quail  for  Tom. 

"What  are  you  going  to  do  with — that 
rascal  ? "  Kimbalton  broke  in  impatiently, 
indicating  with  a  glaring  look  their  present 
captive. 

Burns  regarded  the  Italian  briefly  and  with 
utter  contempt.  "  Keep  him  where  he  is  until 
we  get  the  boy,"  he  answered.  "This  creature 
doesn't  know  any  thing — that's  why  he's  here." 

"  He  knows  that  it's  a  crime  to  blow  up 
property  and  destroy  lives!"  Kimbalton 
thundered. 

Burns  shrugged.  "  In  a  way  he  does — 
yes ;  but  not  as  you  and  I  know  it,  and  not 
as  the  fellows  know  it  who  sent  him  here. 
Now,  Peggy,  you  listen  to  me :  You  know 
whose  house  this  is  ?  " 

"  Why,  yes  ;  Miss  Anne  told  me." 

"When?" 

"  Last  avenin'." 

"Had  you  ever  heard,  before,  that  Mr. 
Kimbalton  owns  such  a  place  ?  " 

"  Niver." 

"Very  well.  Now,  when  I  took  your 
friend  last  night,  I  had  no  idea  he  was  any- 


162    THE  PENNY  PHILANTHROPIST 

thing  more  than  a  dupe ;  but  I  wanted  to  be 
sure  who  he  was  working  for.  So  I  brought 
him  here — not  under  arrest,  but  as  Mr.  Kim- 
balton's — well,  guest  for  the  night.  I  gave 
him  the  run  of  the  house,  and  told  him 
he  was  not  under  detention — could  go  if 
he  wished.  Then  I  left — but  I  had  him 
watched.  I  wanted  to  see  who  he'd  try  to 
communicate  with.  He  didn't  try.  From 
the  way  he  acted,  or  didn't  act,  and  things  I 
found  out  this  morning,  I  was  pretty  well 
convinced,  an  hour  ago,  that  the  boy  didn't 
know  what  was  in  that  package.  I  told  Mr. 
Kimbalton,  and  he  agreed  to  let  the  boy  go 
— only,  we'd  have  him  watched  for  a  while. 
I  came  up  here  to  tell  him  we  would  not  ask 
him  to  stay  longer — he  was  gone !  That  was 
less  than  an  hour  ago.  Do  you — begin  to 
see  anything  ?  " 

Peggy  was  staring  at  him  with  a  troubled, 
startled  gaze. 

"  I — don't  know,"  she  faltered. 

"  Well,  I'll  help  you :  your  friend  knew 
about  this  place — knew  I  was  here — may 
have  surmised,  or  known,  Mr.  Kimbalton 
was  here.  Suddenly,  on  finding  that  out,  he 
goes.  In  just  about  the  time  it  would  take 
him  to  get  busy,  this  dago  appears  with  a 
bomb.  Now,  do  you  get  me  ?  " 


A  STRANGE  SCENE  163 

"  You  think  Tom  Oliphant  sint  a  man  here 
to  blow  you  all  up  wid  a  bomb  ?  " 

"  Think  it?     Why,  I  just  about  know  it ! " 

Peggy  looked  appealingly  at  Anne — at 
Kimbalton ;  they  read  her  mute  question, 
and  nodded  a  mute  reply.  Both  seemed 
sorry.  But  how  discredit  such  evidence? 
That  she  herself  might  also  be  under  suspi- 
cion never  occurred  to  her.  Her  mind  was 
busy  with  a  fugitive — so  busy  that  she  was 
not  even  surprised,  as  she  might  well  have 
been,  at  her  sympathy  going  after  him,  the 
fleeing  stranger,  instead  of  pouring  itself  out 
on  these  tried  friends  who  had  made  so  nar- 
row an  escape  from  death  or  at  least  horrible 
injury. 

Of  the  little  group,  Anne  was  the  only  one 
who  could  get  a  sufficient  sense  of  detachment 
to  feel  herself  a  spectator  rather  than  a  par- 
ticipant. She  wondered  at  many  things,  but 
chiefly  at  Burns'  attitude  towards  the  Italian. 
He  talked  as  if  he  knew  the  captive  could  not 
understand  English.  Did  he  know?  Was 
that  why  he  made  no  attempt  to  question  his 
prisoner  ?  Yet,  Anne  thought,  she  could  de- 
tect a  comprehending  gleam  in  the  Italian's 
eyes.  She  wondered  that  Burns  did  not  see 
it — wished  she  knew  how  to  tell  him.  How 
he  would  have  loved  it  if  she  had  I  This 


164    THE  PENNY  PHILANTHROPIST 

man  always  insisted  that  there  was  no  mys- 
tery about  his  methods.  He  laughed  at 
"  criminal  types "  and  "  degenerate  char- 
acteristics," and  all  such  lingo.  His  was  a 
perfectly  simple  business  of  reading  human 
nature ;  the  man  who  had  a  wide  reading  to 
call  upon  came  the  nearest  to  being  able  to 
interpret  the  human  nature  of  the  immediate 
puzzle — that  was  all !  He  read  Anne's  be- 
wilderment as  she  did  not  read  his  purpose. 
And  he  would  have  been  glad  if  he  could 
have  told  her  his  almost  ludicrously  simple 
little  plan  of  action,  so  that  she  might  have 
the  interest  of  watching  how  it  worked.  But 
he  knew  no  way  to  do  this. 

Peggy  looked  from  the  Kimbaltons  with 
their  sorry  glances  to  the  Italian  who,  the 
more  she  studied  him,  began  to  seem  vaguely 
familiar.  She  could  not  place  him,  and  yet 
the  impression  that  she  had  seen  him  before 
grew  stronger. 

"  Why  don't  you  ask  him  ? "  she  cried. 
"He  knows  who  sint  him  here !  " 

Burns  smiled.  "  D'you  suppose  he'd  tell  ? 
And  besides,  we  know  !  Ah,  ha !  I  think 
we  have  your  young  friend  now." 

There  were  sounds  of  footsteps  on  the  front 
stoop ;  then  a  ring,  which  Burns  answered, 
admitting  a  policeman  and  Tom. 


A  STRANGE  SCENE  165 

"There  was  an  order  to  git  this  young 
fella  an'  bring  him  here/'  the  officer  said  to 
Burns. 

Tom  stared  at  the  assembled  company ; 
and  when  he  saw  Peggy,  his  cheeks  flamed 
and  he  shut  his  eyes  because  they  were  brim- 
ming. He  was  not  unmanly.  He  was  a  boy 
in  a  trap, — a  pitiable,  powerless  thing — and 
in  a  trap,  no  creature  however  valiant  can 
fight.  His  brief  bravado  was  gone.  If  she 
had  not  been  there,  he  might  have  been  sul- 
lenly enduring.  But  the  sight  of  her  distress 
was  too  much  for  his  composure. 

"Well,  sir,"  Burns  addressed  him,  "you 
are  a  shrewder  rascal  than  I  thought — and  it 
isn't  your  fault  that  I  am  here  to  tell  you  so." 

His  glance  roved  significantly  from  the  gas- 
pipe  bomb  and  its  unlighted  fuse  to  the 
Italian — so  significantly  that  Tom  could  not 
fail  to  catch  the  implication. 

"  You  think  I  sent  him  here  to  set  off  that 
thing?"  Tom  cried. 

"  Who  else  could  have  sent  him  ?  "  Kim- 
balton  interposed,  scathingly, 

Peggy's  lips  quivered  piteously,  and  she 
laid  hold  of  Andrew  Kimbalton  beseechingly 
with  her  two  tiny  hands,  reddened  and  rough- 
ened. 

"You    don'    belave    it?"  she    entreated. 


166    THE  PENNY  PHILANTHROPIST 

"  He  couldrf  do  it !  Why,  there  couldn'  be  a 
man  that  mane  1  He  had  hard  feelin's  in  his 
heart  agin  you  'count  of  his  pa  goin'  inner- 
cent  to  jail,  an'  you  wouldn'  try  to  save  him. 
But  that  was  because  you  didn'  know.  Whin 
you  thought  he  was  jist  anny  poor,  fri'n'less 
boy,  you  was  kin'  to  him  an'  give  him  a  job. 
He  seen  you  wasn't  mane  by  intintions — but 
on'y  jist  whin  you  didn'  know.  How  could 
he  want  to  do  such  a  tur'ble  thing  to  you  ? 
God  don'  make  min  that  black  in  the  soul ! " 

"  They  make  themselves  that  black ! "  Kim- 
balton  retorted,  glancing  at  the  Italian  and 
then  at  Tom.  "Don't  be  a  fool,  Peggy. 
Look  at  that  thing,"  indicating  the  bomb, 
"  and  try  to  tell  me  there's  anything  too  fiend- 
ish for  some  men  to  do." 

Peggy  turned  to  the  Italian.  He  had  seen 
nothing  but  rage  and  loathing  in  any  face 
but  hers  since  Burns'  grip  of  steel  was  laid 
on  his  arm ;  her  look  was  full  of  appealing- 
ness,  of  sad  bewilderment  as  if  she  felt  sure 
he  had  a  better  nature  than  his  wretched 
plight  would  indicate. 

His  eyes  shone  with  a  grateful  gleam. 

"Why  did  you   do   it?"  she  entreated, 
struggling  with  her  tears. 

He  turned  away,  as  if  lest  his  eyes  speak, 
denying  the  control  he  kept  on  his  tongue. 


A  STRANGE  SCENE  167 

"  You  can  take  your  prisoner  away,"  Burns 
said  to  the  officer.  "  Book  him  on  conspiracy 
with  intent  to  kill.  I'll  be  there  directly. 
Send  the  wagon  for  this  man." 

Sobbing,  Peggy  thrust  at  Tom  his  mother's 
letter.  "  I  got  you  into  this,"  she  said,  bro- 
kenly ;  "an',  somehow,  I'll  git  you  out." 

Then  she  hid  her  face  in  the  crook  of  her 
arm,  and  would  not  see  him  taken  away. 

Tom  took  the  letter  and  reached  out  as  if 
he  would  have  touched  her,  then  turned  has- 
tily towards  the  door  and  said  to  his  captor : 
"  Come  on — I  can't  stand  this." 

Anne  wept,  and  her  father  looked  misera- 
bly uncomfortable.  Only  Burns  seemed  un- 
moved :  he  knew  he  must  be  cruel  to  be  not 
kind  but  just.  He  nodded  imperatively  to 
the  officer;  and  an  instant  later,  the  door 
closed  on  captor  and  captive. 


XIX 

In   Which  a  Penny  of  Little  Peg's  Is  Paid 
Back  With  Interest 

BURNS'  searching  gaze  never  left  the 
face  of  the  Italian. 
"  Peggy/'  he  said,  "  I'm  sorry  ;  but 
I'm  afraid  I've  got  to  hold  you,  too " 

Anne  made  a  gesture  of  indignant  protest, 
but  the  detective  did  not  heed  her. 

" until  we  get  this  thing  settled.     You 

got  Mr.  Kimbalton  to  hire  this  boy  ;  you  took 
the  message  that  sent  Oliphant  after  the  in- 
fernal machine ;  you  had  agreed  to  keep  it 
in  your  shop  till  called  for ;  you  knew  that 
Oliphant  had  a  fancied  grievance  against  Mr. 
Kimbalton — that  he  had  written  Mr.  Kimbal- 
ton harsh  letters.  Mr.  Kimbalton  was  an  old 
acquaintance  of  yours — I  might  almost  say 
an  old  friend  ;  his  daughter  was  a  new  friend ; 
they  liked  you,  and  it  seemed  as  if  you  might 
reasonably  have  liked  them  ;  as  if,  when  they 
or  their  interests  were  threatened  with  dyna- 
mite, you  would  have  thought  first  of  warn- 
ing, of  protecting  them.  This  Oliphant  boy 
says  he  is  a  stranger  to  you.  Yet  when  he  is 
1 68 


PAID  BACK  WITH  INTEREST   169 

arrested  for  trying  to  destroy  them,  you  cry 
heart-brokenly,  instead  of  being  glad  they 
are  safe.  I  could  go  on — but  I  won't.  Can 
you  explain  these  things,  Peggy  ?  Can  you 
tell  me  any  reason  why  you  should  not  be 
held  as  an  accomplice  ?  " 

He  spoke  gently,  regretfully,  even  sadly. 
Peggy  stared  at  him,  horrified.  When  he 
finished,  she  blushed  scarlet.  There  was  only 
one  reason,  and  she  couldn't  tell  it ;  but  if 
she  could,  what  extenuation  would  it  seem  ? 

"  Why,  Mr.  Burns,  this  is  absurd  ! "  Anne 
Kimbalton  cried.  "  Father !  tell  him  you 
can't  allow  it." 

Burns  turned  towards  her  angrily.  "  I 
must  use  my  judgment,  Miss  Kimbalton,  not 
yours — or  retire  from  the  case." 

"  That's  right,  Anne,"  her  father  interposed. 
"  I  feel  as  bad  as  you  do.  But  we've  got 
shrewd  rascals  to  fight,  and  we  can't  be 
sentimental — they're  not !  Perhaps  Peggy 
thought  she  was  justified — but  I  wish  she  had 
played  me  fair  and  square,  even  as  an  enemy. 
It  might  have  left  me  some  faith  in  human 
nature.  Come,  Anne ;  we'll  get  out  of  here 
before  that  patrol  wagon  comes." 

He  turned  away,  and  Anne  with  a  sorrow- 
ful look  at  Peggy  was  about  to  follow  him, 
when  the  Italian  cried  out :  "  No  !  " 


I yo    THE  PENNY  PHILANTHROPIST 

It  was  a  pity  that  none  of  them  could  read 
the  expression  that  flashed  in  Burns'  eyes  for 
an  immeasurably  small  fraction  of  a  second  ; 
but  they  were  looking  at  the  hitherto-mute 
captive. 

"  No  1 "  the  Italian  cried  imploringly. 
"  Not  penny  girl ! " 

He  fumbled  at  his  breast  pockets,  uncon- 
scious that  he  might  be  suspected  of  feeling 
for  a  dirk,  and  took  out  a  dirty  envelope, 
from  which  he  drew,  tenderly,  a  pressed  and 
faded  flower. 

"  Luckee  day  !  "•  he  said,  holding  it  out  to 
Peggy — with  a  smile  she  knew,  suddenly. 

"  Oh  !  "  she  cried  ;  "  thafs  who  you  are  I 
An'  did  I  bring  you  to  this  luck,  too  ?  " 

"No!  No!"  his  look  darkened;  "not 
you." 

She  handed  back  the  faded  flower ;  but  he 
would  not  take  it. 

"  No  help  bambini  now  ! "  he  cried  ;  and 
drew  from  the  envelope  a  little  photograph 
— of  two  Italian  babies,  one  of  whom  he  had 
never  seen. 

"  What  does  he  mean  ?  "  Kimbalton  asked 
Peggy. 

"  He  manes,"  she  answered,  dashing  the 
back  of  her  rough  little  hand  at  her  brimming 
eyes,  "  that  the  flower  can't  help  his  babies 


PAID  BACK  WITH  INTEREST    171 

now.  I  raymimber  him  :  he  wint  by  my 
place  wan  day  a  good  while  ago,  an'  he  had 
a  look  about  him  that  made  me  heart  ache — 
the  kin'  of  a  look  a  dog  has,  sometimes,  whin 
you  can't  git  by  him  widout  pattin'  his  head 
an'  sayin',  '  Nice  ol'  fella  ! '  'cause  you  know 
that's  what  he's  starvin'  fer.  I  smiled  fri'n'ly 
at  this  man,  here,  an'  got  him  into  Marti- 
nelli's.  Martinelli  give  him  coffee  an'  rolls — 
he's  awful  good — an'  got  out  o'  him  that 
there  was  aven  worse  the  matter  wid  him 
than  starvin' :  he  was  dyin'  o'  homesickness, 
too  ;  he'd  left  wan  baby  an'  his  wife  behind, 
an'  another  wan'd  come  since  he  wint  away. 
He  thought  he  could  sind  fer  thim — but  he 
hadn'  no  job,  an'  I  guess  they  seemed  a 
million  miles  away.  So  I  helped  Martinelli 
hunt  where  they  was  advertisin'  fer  section 
han's,  an'  then  I  took  me  penny  fer  that  day 
an'  bought  a  bit  of  a  red  flower  an'  pinned  it 
on  our  fri'nd,  an'  made  him  smile,  an'  told 
him  it  was  his  lucky  day.  An'  by  an'  by 
Martinelli  got  a  pos'-card  sayin'  he,"  nodding 
towards  the  captive,  "  had  got  a  job,  an*  was 
kapein'  the  little  flower — fer  to  help  him 
bring  over — the  bambini," — the  look  on  the 
Italian's  face  was  too  much  for  her  ;  she  could 
not  go  on,  so  she  tried  to  turn  it  off  on  her- 
self with  a  bit  of  her  pathetic  raillery.  "  I  got 


172    THE  PENNY  PHILANTHROPIST 

rayson  to  think  small  o'  meself  as  a  mascot," 
she  finished — her  mouth  twitching. 

"  You've  got  reason  to  think  great  of  your- 
self as  a  mascot,"  Burns  corrected  ;  "for  if  it 
hadn't  been  for  you,  probably  none  of  us 
would  have  been  alive  by  this  time." 

"  Hadn'  been  fer  me  ?  "  she  echoed,  blankly. 

"  For  you  and  your  penny  flower ;  that's 
why  he  stopped  you,  or  tried  to.  It  didn't 
mean  anything  to  him  that  the  thing  he  was 
to  do  would  blow  other  people  to  a  horrible 
death — he  hadn't  seen  us ;  he  couldn't  feel 
our  love  of  life,  our  right  to  live,  the  grief 
that  our  deaths  would  cause ;  so  he  agreed 
to  set  a  lighted  match  to  a  twisted  string,  and 
go  away.  Perhaps  he  was  to  get  money  for 
it  to  bring  over  the  bambini.  God!  that's 
the  way  things  turn  out  in  this  queer  world. 
.  .  .  But  you !  You  had  been  kind  to 
him — he  couldn't  hurt  you — isn't  that  it?" 

He  turned  to  the  dynamiter,  who  nodded 
assent. 

"  This  doesn't  alter  any  of  the  things  I  said, 
Peggy,"  Burns  went  on.  "  But  I  guess  it 
ought  to  alter  the  situation  for  you.  Mr. 
Kimbalton  would  probably  not  want  you 
locked  up " 

Kimbalton  almost  glared  at  him.  "  I 
should  say  not!"  he  declared.  "Peggy 


173 

knows  whether  she  is  glad  she  saved  our 
lives  or  not ;  but  the  thing  there  can  be  no 
doubt  of  is  that  we're  glad  she  saved  them. 
And  by  George  1  this  is  the  last  time  I  want 
to  be  mixed  up  in  scenes  of  justice  for  the 
wrong-doer.  If  it's  full  of  these  strange  com- 
plications, I'm  glad  it's  no  part  of  my  busi- 
ness to  see  that  justice  is  done.  I'll  leave 
that  to  you  fellows  who  have  no  sentiment." 
He  was  quite  irascible  at  Burns,  as  if  the  lat- 
ter had  needlessly  dragged  him  into  a  har- 
rowing situation. 

"  Humph  !  "  said  Burns — replying  to  the 
charge  of  having  no  sentiment. 

"  If  I  kin  go,"  Peggy  ventured,  "  I  better  be 
doin'  it — it  mus'  be  gittin'  pas'  five  o'clock." 

In  her  hand  she  still  held  the  little  flower. 

"  Give  me  that,  Peggy,"  Kimbalton  said, 
reaching  for  it. 

She  laid  it  in  his  outstretched  palm. 

"  I — I'll  try  to  make  it  up  somehow  to  the 
bambini"  he  murmured — not  trusting  him- 
self to  look  at  the  father  of  the  bambini,  but 
turning  away  sharply. 

Peggy  looked  from  one  to  the  other — then 
sobbed  aloud. 

"  Oh,  God  !  Why  d'you  1'ave  people  git 
in  such  tur'ble  trouble  jest  from  not  knowin' 
wan  another  till  'tis  too  late  ?  " 


XX 

In  Which  Burns  Disclaims,  and  Explains 

BURNS  smiled  and  shrugged.  "  Won- 
derful ?  Well,  it's  wonderful  to  me  to 
hear  a  baby  talk  French — because  I 
can't  do  it.  It's  a  matter  of  experience — this 
job  of  mine.  Peggy  said  the  Italian  tried  to 
stop  her  from  coming  in.  What  does  that 
mean?  To  you,  nothing;  to  me,  a  lot,  be- 
cause I've  had  a  fairly  comprehensive  experi- 
ence with  dynamiters  and  their  sentiments. 
There  was  the  fellow  in  'Frisco  who  was 
perfectly  willing  to  stand  by  and  let  Spreck- 
els  and  me  and  our  families  be  blown  to 
atoms  for  prosecuting  the  graft  investiga- 
tion, but  who  couldn't  bear  to  have  Fremont 
Older  injured,  because  Older  had  once  done 
him  a  trifling  kindness — and  forgotten  about 
it ;  the  fellow  warned  Older,  and  we  nipped 
the  whole  scheme.  Another  fellow  who  was 
told  off  to  light  a  fuse  under  a  house  where 
fifteen  men  were  at  work,  in  order  that  one 
man  of  the  fifteen  might  '  get  his,'  was  with- 
out compunction  about  killing  fourteen  heads 


BURNS  EXPLAINS  175 

of  families  who  had  no  connection  with  the 
graft  investigation,  but  balked  when  the  ap- 
pointed time  came,  because  the  wife  of  one 
of  the  workmen  had  just  gone  into  the  build- 
ing with  her  two  little  girls.  I  could  go  on 
— but  I  won't.  If  that  Italian  tried  to  stop 
Peggy,  it  meant  that  he  had  some  instruc- 
tions or  some  sentiment  about  her.  It  might 
have  been  instruction — that  was  my  first 
thought.  Then,  that  began  to  seem  more 
and  more  unlikely,  as  I  put  this  and  that 
together  ;  so  I  tried  for  the  sentiment — got  it 
in  the  way  the  dumb  creature  looked  when  I 
seemed  to  be  drawing  Peggy  into  the  net. 
'  If  I  drag  her  in  far  enough,  I'll  get  him/  I 
told  myself.  You  see,  I  had  to  go  pretty  far 
before  he  broke.  She  felt  awful  bad  about 
that  young  fellow ;  but  the  dago  didn't  get 
that,  or  it  didn't  quite  get  him.  But  when 
he  realized  that  she  was  under  arrest,  too — 
well,  I  suppose  he  had  a  mental  picture  of 
the  news  stand  minus  Peggy  and  her  smile 
and  her  penny,  and  it  all  connected  up,  some- 
how, in  his  mind  with  the  bambini  he  would 
never  see — and  that  was  his  breaking  point. 
That's  all.  The  medisevals  used  the  thumb- 
screw and  the  rack  and  the  iron  boot  to 
bring  men  to  the  breaking-point.  When  we 
got  a  little  bit  too  nice  for  that,  we  used  the 


176    THE  PENNY  PHILANTHROPIST 

third  degree.  You  don't  need  either,  unless 
you're  a  bungler.  I've  never  yet  met  with  a 
man  I  couldn't  understand  by  putting  myself 
in  his  place." 

Kimbalton  stared.  "  You  don't  say  ! "  he 
exclaimed.  "  Well !  we  live  and  learn — God 
be  praised  !  It  seems  to  me  that  till  I  die, 
whenever  I  know  of  dreadful  things  hap- 
pening between  man  and  man,  I'll  hear  ring- 
ing in  my  ears  that  heart-broken  appeal  of 
little  Peg:  'Oh,  God!  Why  d'you  1'ave 
people  git  in  such  tur'ble  trouble  jest  fer 
want  o'  knowin'  wan  another  ? ' ' 

Burns  nodded.  "  Maybe  you  think  a  man 
in  my  business  don't  have  occasion  to  echo 
that  I " 

"  I  wouldn't  be  in  your  business  for  any- 
thing in  the  world,"  Kimbalton  replied. 

"  No  ?  "  dryly.  "  Well,  a  good  many  peo- 
ple seem  to  feel  that  way.  But  of  course, 
I  feel  the  same  way  about  your  business. 
You  create  conditions  for  thousands ;  I  only 
wrestle  with  the  occasional  one  who  has  let 
conditions  throw  him." 

The  men  were  in  Kimbalton' s  library — or 
perhaps  it  were  more  exact  to  say  in  the 
library  of  Kimbalton's  house.  It  was  a  room 
he  made  considerable  use  of,  but  the  books 
in  it  were  a  mere  part  of  its  scheme  of  dig- 


BURNS  EXPLAINS  177 

nity  and   decorum ;   Kimbalton   was   not  a 
bookman. 

It  was  Sunday  night,  and  the  excitement 
of  the  preceding  day  was  somewhat  abated. 
Luigi  Ferucci,  with  the  picture  of  the  bambini 
in  his  pocket,  was  in  a  cell  in  the  Desplaines 
Street  station,  awaiting  his  preliminary  ar- 
raignment on  Monday  morning.  And  Tom 
Oliphant,  with  his  mother's  letter  of  congrat- 
ulation in  his  pocket,  was  in  an  adjoining  cell 
— adjoining,  so  that  if  they  attempted  any 
communication  with  each  other,  they  could 
be  overheard.  For  Luigi  had  lapsed  into 
dogged  dumbness  again,  after  being  taken 
to  the  station  ;  and  the  mystery  of  who  sent 
him  to  the  Lucy  Kimbalton  house  with  that 
bomb  remained  unexplained.  The  Sunday 
papers  were  full  of  the  sensation,  though 
there  were  some  phases  of  it  that  had  been 
successfully  guarded  from  the  young  men  of 
the  press.  What  got  out  was :  that  Burns 
and  Kimbalton,  in  conference  in  the  old  Kim- 
balton home  on  the  West  Side,  had  surprised 
Ferucci  in  the  act  of  laying  a  bomb  to  blow 
them  up  ;  and  that  suspicion  of  having  sent 
Ferucci  there  was  directed  to  Thomas  Oli- 
phant, "  a  young  man  whose  grievance 
against  Kimbalton  on  his  father's  account  is 
supposed  to  have  made  him  a  ready  dupe 


178    THE  PENNY  PHILANTHROPIST 

for  the  disgruntled  workers."  This  was  read 
"  down  state  "  almost  as  soon  as  in  Chicago  ; 
Tom's  mother  could  not  even  know  that  her 
letter  had  reached  her  boy. 

There  was  no  one  to  tell  of  Peggy's  pres- 
ence on  the  scene,  unless  Ida  or  Katie,  who 
did  not  know  the  outcome  of  her  part  in  it, 
should  chance  to  tell  some  of  their  acquaint- 
ances that  she  was  there.  Peggy  had  been 
glad  to  promise  that  she  would  tell  nothing 
and  also  that  she  would  enjoin  secrecy  on 
Alma.  That  closed  one  source  of  information 
to  the  inquisitorial  reporter,  despoiled  Petie 
of  the  sensation  of  his  life,  but  spared  Peggy 
as  well  as  serving  Burns.  Anne  Kimbalton 
was  particularly  grateful  for  the  turn  of  events 
that  made  it  possible  to  keep  Peggy,  for  a 
time  at  least,  out  of  the  horrid  spotlight.  It 
even  so  chanced  that  her  own  presence  was 
not  discovered  and,  so,  not  discussed.  But 
to-morrow  morning's  hearing  would  drag 
forth  some  things,  no  doubt;  and  no  one 
could  be  sure  that  they  might  not  be  the 
things  most  desirable  to  keep  quiet. 

"  I  wish,"  Kimbalton  said,  ignoring  after  a 
moment's  pause  Burns'  last  remark,  "  we 
could  learn  the  truth  about  that  young  Oli- 
phant." 

He  had  the  inclination  to  petulance  of  the 


BURNS  EXPLAINS  179 

man  who  is  seldom  balked  ;  and  he  seemed 
almost  as  if  he  would  imply  that  Burns  ought 
to  be  able  to  find  that  truth. 

"  I  wish  we  could  1 "  the  detective  con- 
curred, heartily.  "  I  only  hope  that,  if  all 
else  fails  and  we  have  to  bring  him  to  trial, 
he'll  be  able  to  clear  himself.  But  it  isn't  al- 
ways easy  to  prove  innocence.  His  father 
couldn't  do  it." 

"  Do  you  think  he  was  innocent?" 

"  I  think  he  was." 

Kimbalton  got  up  and  began  to  pace. 
That  was  an  ugly  thought  to  endure.  Not 
because  he  had  done  anything  to  bring  in- 
justice to  an  innocent  man  but  because  he 
had  done  nothing  to  prevent  it.  Kimbalton 
was  beginning  to  have  an  acute  social  con- 
science. 

"  Do  you  think  the  boy  did  what  we've 
jailed  him  for  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know.  I  wish  I  did  !  I  believe 
it  is  quite  possible  for  circumstantial  evi- 
dence, as  strong  as  that  against  him,  to  be 
entirely  false  and  misleading.  My  study  of 
human  nature  doesn't  make  that  boy  out  a 
deliberate  dynamiter — one  who  would  carry 
vindictiveness  to  the  awful  lengths  of  murder. 
But  I  work  in  the  interests  of  the  law-abiding 
— for  their  ^protection.  I  can't  let  that  boy 


I8o    THE  PENNY  PHILANTHROPIST 

loose  in  the  community  until  I  know  that  he's 
a  reasonably  safe  creature  to  be  abroad 
among  his  kind.  Of  course,  I  may  have  my 
own  theories  about  there  being  unmolested 
members  of  society  who  are  worse  for  their 
fellows  than  dynamiters  ;  but  I  am  not  free  to 
act  on  my  theories — I  am  under  the  law,  like 
all  the  rest  of  the  world.  This  thing  we're 
trying  to  ferret  out  is  not  a  personal  but  a 
social  grievance ;  the  decision  as  to  those 
two  men  is  not  up  to  you  because  your  life 
and  property  were  threatened,  but  up  to  the 
community  which  may  or  may  not  want  those 
two  men  loose  in  its  midst." 

"  By  Jove  1 "  cried  Andrew  Kimbalton, 
"the  whole  thing's  too  complex  for  me." 

"  I  jhave  one  hope,"  Burns  said,  rising  to 
go  ;  "  one  little  hope."  He  smiled.  "  No,  I 
won't  tell  it,"  he  went  on,  answering  the 
question  in  Kimbalton's  look.  "  If  it  works 
out,  you'll  know.  And  if  it  doesn't,  you 
won't  be  disappointed." 


XXI 

In  Which  Anne  Tells  Her  Dream 

WHEN  Burns  was  gone,  Anne  came 
in.  She  was  eager  for  news,  to 
hear  all  he  had  said  ;  and  she  had 
other  things  she  wanted  to  talk  over  with  her 
father. 

"  Dad,"  she  began,  getting  around  to  this 
matter  of  her  own,  "  of  course  Peggy  saved 
our  lives " 

"  Of  course  she  did  ! " 

"  And  we  want  to  do  something  for  her  to 
express  our  gratefulness." 

"  Of  course  ! " 

"  Have  you  thought  of  anything?" 

"  No  ;  I'll  leave  that  to  you." 

"  I  knew  you  would  !  And  I've  been  try- 
ing to  think." 

"Well ?" 

She  laughed.  "  It  was  funny.  I  tried  to 
think  of  all  the  things  that  we  could  do  for  little 
Peg — and  I  couldn't  think  of  one  of  the  usual 
things  that  it  seemed  to  me  she  might  care 
for.  If  we  gave  her  money,  I'm  not  at  all 
sure  that  she'd  take  it.  But  if  she  did  take 
181 


182  THE  PENNY  PHILANTHROPIST 

it,  I'm  quite  sure  what  would  become  of  it : 
Polly  would  get  most  of  it  for  folderols,  and 
Petie  would  get  the  rest  for  '  shows '  at  the 
Academy.  If  we  bought  Peggy  something, 
what  could  we  buy  her?  She  can't  wear 
good  clothes — her  work  would  spoil  them, 
and  they  would  spoil  her.  A  gold  watch 
would  be  silly  on  dear  little  Peg,  and  if 
burglars  didn't  get  it,  Polly  would.  And 
wouldn't  it  be  wicked  to  try  to  do  her  a 
kindness  that  would  take  her  out  of  the 
'  imporium '  where  she  does  such  a  world 
of  good  ?  " 

"  It  would  J  " 

"  For  she  can  do  what  I  can't  do,  no  matter 
how  I  try.  I  mean  to  work  with  her  all  she'll 
let  me ;  but  I  don't  know  in  just  what  way  it 
will  be.  The  more  I  think  about  it,  the  more 
I  seem  to  see  that  Peggy  doesn't  need  me  or 
anything  I  have  or  can  do.  But  I  need  her  !  " 

Andrew  Kimbalton  shook  his  head  un- 
comprehendingly.  Anne  need  not  expect 
him  to  understand  how  there  could  be  a 
human  creature  that  did  not  need  her  or 
what  she  could  give  and  do. 

"The  biggest  thing  that  can  happen  to 
Peggy,  or  to  her  world,  is  to  let  her  be  as 
she  is,"  Anne  went  on.  "Yet  think  how 
cheap  and  miserable  I  feel  when  I  say  that  I 


ANNE  TELLS  HER  DREAM    183 

I've  thought  of  giving  Peggy  a  fund  to  draw 
on — then  I  remembered  how  she  had  refused 
your  offer  of  a  dollar  a  day ;  and  I  can  see 
that  she  is  right.  Do  you  know  something, 
Daddy  Kimbalton :  there  is  hardly  any  way 
in  the  world  to  give  people  things  and  do  it 
right.  The  only  justice  is  to  let  them  earn 
enough!  Maybe  you  can't  come  to  it.  I 
suppose  it  upsets  all  your  training.  But  I'm 
going  to  train  for  it  1  I'm  ashamed  to  look 
at  myself  in  the  glass — I've  got  so  much  that 
I  don't  need  and  that  I  can't  seem  to  give 
away.  I'll  keep  doing  what  I  can,  every  day, 
as  dear  little  Peggy  says.  But  I  shan't  try 
to  believe  that  I'm  doing  all  I  can  till  Ida 
Levin  and  Katie  Scyzmanska  and  Alma 
Petersen  don't  need  anything  from  me  but 
my  friendship,  just  as  I  need  theirs." 

Anne  was  very  lovely  in  her  earnestness. 
Andrew  Kimbalton  was  moved  by  the  beauty 
and  ardour  of  his  child  rather  than  by  the 
vision  she  was  seeing.  He  smiled  tenderly 
at  her — an  almost  worshipful  smile.  Her 
youth,  her  enthusiasm,  were  the  most  pre- 
cious things  in  all  the  world  to  him.  He 
drew  her  to  him  and  kissed  her.  No  lover 
would  ever  give  her  a  kiss  so  reverent,  so 
adoring,  so  wistful  for  her  happiness. 

And  Anne,  as  she  nestled  close  to  him,  her 


184   THE  PENNY  PHILANTHROPIST 

head  against  his  breast,  went  on  with  her 
dreaming  for  a  while,  her  fancies  fed  by  the 
fire  into  which  they  were  both  staring — and 
seeing  so-different  things ! 

"  Dad,"  she  said,  presently,  "  will  you  ever 
forget  little  Peg  yesterday  when  she  stood 
there  in  grandmother's  parlour  and  looked 
from  you  and  the  faded  flower  to  Ferucci 
and  the  picture  of  the  bambini,  and  just  cried 
out  to  God,  heart-brokenly,  about  the  pity  of 
people  not  knowing  one  another  better  ?  If 
you  had  known  about  the  babies  in  Italy, 
how  quick  you  would  have  been  to  help  him 
send  for  them !  And  if  he  could  have  known 
the  great,  big,  kind,  tender  heart  of  you,  he 
never  would  have  consented  to  try  to  kill  you 
with  that  awful  bomb.  And  now,  when  you 
know,  it  is  too  late  to  help  1  He's  the  state's 
prisoner,  now — and  your  forgiving  him  won't 
do  him  any  good.  We've  got  to  be  friendly 
before  it  gets  too  late !  Now,  you  listen  while 
I  tell  you  the  one  thing  I've  thought  of  that 
we  might  do  for  Peggy — perhaps  it'll  lead  to 
a  bigger  thing  some  day  when  we  all  under- 
stand one  another  better.  I  want  to  start  a 
little  club,  and  call  it  The  Peggy  Club — for 
girls — for  Alma  and  Ida  and  Katie  and  their 
friends,  and  for  Peggy  and  me — just  a  friend- 
ship club,  a  place  to  go  and  get  better  ac- 


ANNE  TELLS  HER  DREAM    185 

quainted.  I  can't  have  it  here,  of  course — 
the  girls  wouldn't  come ;  nor  even  in  grand- 
mother's house,  as  I  tried  to.  And  when 
Peggy  has  it  in  her  shop  or  kitchen,  as  she 
does  now — it  isn't  a  club  now,  but  it  amounts 
to  the  same  thing — it  means  that  neither  she 
nor  Polly  can  have  private  callers,  because 
there  are  always  some  of  the  girls  there. 
Peggy  is  beginning  to  worry  about  Polly, 
because  Polly  has  no  place  to  entertain  her 
friends.  And  some  of  these  days  Peggy  will 
be  wanting  a  chance  at  her  own  kitchen  for 
her  own  courting,  I'm  thinking.  So  I  want 
to  rent  the  floor  above  Peggy's,  and  fix  it  up 
a  little,  as  the  girls  would  like  it,  and  have  it 
for  a  place  where  girls  can  go  and  have 
pleasant,  friendly  times.  I  think  the  matter 
with  your  girls'  club  out  at  the  Works  is,  it's 
too  big :  you  don't  have  happy,  intimate 
times  when  you  have  to  go  to  great,  public 
banquets  or  to  receptions.  And  girls  that 
have  worked  hard  all  day  don't  want  to 
exercise  in  a  gymnasium  or  listen  to  a  lec- 
ture on  the  Land  of  the  Midnight  Sun,  any 
more  than  you  want  to  play  hand-ball  or  hear 
'  Die  Gotterdammerung.'  You've  tried  the 
way  that  some  one  proposed  to  you.  Do  you 
mind  if  I  try  the  way  I've  thought  out  for 
myself?" 


186    THE  PENNY  PHILANTHROPIST 

"  No,  no  !  go  ahead  !  Feel  your  own  way 
— that's  the  only  real  progress.  And  whether 
your  dear  little  scheme  helps  anybody  else 
or  not,  it  can't  fail  to  help  you.  Try,  sweet- 
heart— when  you  believe  in  a  thing,  try  it ; 
and  if  it  fails,  or  you  fail,  try  something  else. 
Keep  trying — that's  life  1  People  wonder 
why  I  go  on  making  money  when  I  can't 
use  what  I  have.  Fools !  Don't  they  know 
it  isn't  the  money  ?  What  am  I  to  do  with 
the  energy,  the  insight,  the  experience  I've 
developed  in  all  these  years  ?  When  I  see  a 
thing  that  commends  itself  to  my  judgment 
and  stirs  my  fighting  blood,  I've  got  to  go 
after  it — or  die  1  I  haven't  left  you  much  to 
fight  for,  in  one  way.  You've  got  a  job  on 
your  hands  to  find  things  to  go  after.  When 
you've  found  something  that  appeals  to  you, 
keep  after  it — and  God  make  it  hard  to  over- 
take 1 " 


XXII 

In  Which  Peggy  Unconsciously  Makes  Out  a 
Case  For  Tom 

"  TT  DON'T  care  to  go  over  there— it 
would  make  the  thing  look  too  im- 

-*-  portant.  Just  tell  her  that  young 
Oliphant  wants  to  see  her.  I  guess  that 
won't  be  stretching  the  truth,  either.  Be  as 
casual  as  you  can." 

"  All  right,  sir." 

Officer  Keegan  of  the  Desplaines  Street 
station  started  for  Peggy's  "  imporium,"  and 
Burns  sat  back  in  the  captain's  office  and 
discussed  the  case,  and  the  conduct  of  the 
prisoners.  That  is  to  say,  the  captain  dis- 
cussed them,  and  Burns  listened  and  as- 
sented. 

It  was  about  nine-thirty  when  Keegan 
came  back  with  Peggy.  She  seemed  sur- 
prised to  see  Burns. 

"  Oliphant  didn't  ask  to  see  you,  Peggy," 
Burns  told  her.  "  But  I  knew  it  would  do  him 
good.  He's  awful  despondent.  See  if  you 
can't  cheer  him  up  a  little  bit." 

Peggy  looked  as  bankrupt  of  cheer  as  any 
187 


188   THE  PENNY  PHILANTHROPIST 

one  had  ever  seen  her ;  but  she  smiled  her 
wistful,  crooked  little  smile. 

"What'll  I  tell  him?"  she  asked,  pathet- 
ically. "  That  jail's  a  gran'  place  to  be  ? 
That  he  naden't  be  bothered  wid  huntin'  no 
job,  or  payin'  no  board  bill  ?  That  he'll  aven 
git  his  hair  cut  free,  an'  a  fine  fancy  suit  o' 
clo'es,  an'  kin  live  in  a  cage  like  a  canary  ?  " 

Her  face  twitched  as  she  drew  this  picture  ; 
one  does  not  live  long  where  Peggy  lived 
without  hearing  tales  of  "the  pen."  She 
turned,  and  dashed  the  tears  away  with  the 
back  of  her  little  hand. 

Burns  liked  Peggy,  even  though  he  could 
not  be  quite  sure  of  certain  things  about  her ; 
but  he  was  not  sorry  to  see  her  cry — just 
now. 

"  If  he  can  prove  where  he  was  while  he 
was  out  of  the  Kimbalton  house,  and  can 
give  a  good  reason  why  he  left  it  so  uncere- 
moniously, he'll  get  off  to-morrow  after  his 
preliminary  hearing.  If  he  can't,  of  course 
he'll  be  held  for  trial.  A  great  deal  depends 
on  to-morrow  morning.  That's  why  I 
thought  it  might  be  a  good  plan  for  you  to 
talk  with  him.  When  any  of  us  try  to  tell 
him  what's  for  his  own  good,  he  gets  sullen 
and  suspicious." 

"  Ain't  it  quare,"  Peggy  cried,  wrathfully, 


A  CASE  FOR  TOM  189 

"  that  he'd  git  mistrus'ful  of  you  ?  He  must 
have  an  awful  villainous  nature  !  " 

Burns  laughed.  "  Don't  fly  off  the  handle, 
Peggy,"  he  entreated.  "  Try  to  think  of  this 
a  little  from  Mr.  Kimbalton's  point  of  view. 
He's  just  about  as  anxious  to  see  that  young- 
ster cleared  as  you  are  !  And  I  think  he 
means  to  have  the  father's  case  looked  into. 
You're  not  an  unreasonable  girl.  Why  can't 
you  take  a  calm  view  of  this  ?  Nobody 
wants  Oliphant  involved.  Everybody'll  be 
glad  to  see  him  cleared.  But  you  can  see 
that  we've  got  to  get  some  accounting  for 
his  movements.  Try  to  persuade  him  that 
this  is  no  '  frame-up  ' — get  him  to  make  an 
effort  and  clear  himself." 

Peggy  listened.  Burns'  manner  was  frank 
and  convincingly  sincere.  It  was  true:  if 
Tom  was  "  up  against  it,"  at  least  he  was 
not  held  without  what  might  welt  seem  to 
any  one  sufficient  reason. 

"  Of  course,"  Burns  went  on,  "  I  know 
Oliphant  is  being  played  for  a  dupe.  But  I 
can't  tell  just  how  blind  he  is  :  whether  he 
knows  what  he's  doing,  or  doesn't  know." 

"  I  could  tell  you  that !  "  she  cried. 

He  smiled.  "  Telling  me  isn't  going  to 
do  any  good,"  he  reminded  her.  "  This 
thing  isn't  up  to  me — it's  up  to  the  State's 


190    THE  PENNY  PHILANTHROPIST 

Attorney."  And  he  explained  to  her,  as  he 
had  always  to  be  explaining  to  some  one, 
that  he  was  no  agent  of  private  vindictive- 
ness,  but  a  man  who  sought  to  serve  the 
laws  of  the  commonwealth. 

"  I'll  try,"  she  said. 

Tom  was  sitting  with  his  head  in  his  hands, 
when  she  stopped  before  his  cell-door.  It 
was  quiet  in  the  lockup :  Saturday  night's 
drunks  were  sobered,  and  Sunday  night's  had 
not  begun  to  come  in.  Tom  heard  the  little, 
inarticulate  sound  of  distress  that  Peggy 
made.  He  raised  his  head,  and  stared.  It 
might  be  Peggy  herself,  or  it  might  be  only 
another  vision  of  her.  She  tried  to  smile ; 
but  the  tears  would  come. 

"  I — came  to  see  you,"  she  faltered. 

He  was  ashamed  to  whine,  and  attempted 
a  bit  of  raillery.  "  And  I  can't  even  ask  you 
to  sit  down,"  he  replied. 

"  I  can't  stay  long,"  she  answered.  "  I  jest 
come  to  see,  couldn'  I  maybe  cheer  you  up  a 
little.  But  I — I  guess  I  don't  know  how." 

"  I  guess  nobody  knows  how,"  he  said ; 
"  except  that  it's  something  to  see  you.  If  I 
have  any  comfort  at  all,  it's  in  thinking  that 
you  don't  believe  what  they're  trying  to  make 
out  against  me." 

"  Of  course   I   don't ! "   she  cried.     "  An1 


A  CASE  FOR  TOM  191 

Mr.  Burns  says  I'm  to  tell  you  that  nobody 
wants  to  belave  thim  things.  He  says  Mr. 
Kimbalton'll  be  almost  as  glad  as — as  I  will 
— if  you  kin  jest  satisfy  thim  that  you  wasn't 
in  the  plot.  They're  hopin'  you  kin  do  it  to- 
morrow mornin',  so  you  won't  be  held  for  no 
trial." 

"  Do  you  believe  that  ?  " 

"  Sure  I  belave  it !  I  kin  see  there's  been 
a  lot  of  awful  mistakes ;  but  why  would  I 
belave  they'd  want  to  make  trouble  fer  you, 
anny  more  than  I'd  belave  you'd  want  to 
make  trouble  fer  thim  ?  Some  wan  have 
been  makin'  a  goat  o'  you,  an'  we  gotta  find 
out  who  it  is.  It  began  Friday  avenin',  wid 
me  gittin'  that  quare  kin'  o'  message  on  the 
tillyphone.  I  didn'  see  it  then,  but  I  see  it 
now.  An'  Mr.  Burns  says  some  wan  sint 
word  to  him  that  if  he'd  come  to  my  place 
about  tin  o'clock,  he'd  fin'  you  wid  the  goods 
on.  Now,  we  know  there  wasn't  anny  wan 
that  could  'a'  done  that  except  the  fella  that 
tillyphoned  me.  But  how  kin  we  prove  it  ?  " 

"  We  can't,"  he  answered,  bitterly. 

"An'  you  couldn'  git  no  wan  to  swear 
where  you  was  after  you  left  that  house  ?  " 

"  How  could  I  ?  I  was  getting  away  as 
fast  as  I  could  go." 

"  It's  such  a  pity  you  wint ! " 


192    THE  PENNY  PHILANTHROPIST 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know  1  If  I'd  stayed,  they'd 
have  said  I  sent  for  the  dynamiters  to  come 
and  blow  me  up." 

"  He  was  havin'  you  watched,  he  said ; 
he'd  know  you  didn'  do  that." 

He  was  silent  for  a  moment,  then  he 
laughed.  "  Do  you  know,"  he  said,  "  I 
have  only  the  faintest  idea  of  what  this  dyna- 
miting is  all  about.  Everything  in  the  world 
I  know  about  it  is  what  Mr.  McNabb  told  me 
in  Martinelli's,  on  Thursday  morning.  He 
pointed  out  Burns  to  me  and  said  it  was  re- 
ported that  Burns  was  on  the  Kimbalton 
dynamite  case.  I  didn't  even  know  what 
that  was — and  he  told  me.  He  said  Burns 
was  a  deep  one,  and  nobody  ever  finds  out 
what  he's  about.  That's  the  only  time  I  ever 
heard  him  or  anybody  mention  it.  And  I've 
never  been  interested  in  labour  troubles — so 
I  ain't  likely  to  pay  much  attention  to  them 
in  newspapers.  I  don't  even  know  who  I'm 
supposed  to  be  mixed  up  with.  They  don't 
tell  me  anything — they  just  ask  me." 

"  I  dunno  much  about  thim  mesilf,"  Peggy 
declared.  "  I  niver  rade  nothin'  about 'em  in 
the  papers  ;  it's  all  so  mixed  up :  wan  says 
'  'Tis '  an'  wan  says  '  'Tain't,'  an'  there  you 
are !  But  there's  been  an  awful  lot  o'  talk 
'round  our  place  to-day,  an'  o'  course  our 


A  CASE  FOR  TOM  193 

Petie's  jest  about  crazy  wid  excitement.  He 
don't  know  about  me  bein'  in  it  yeste'day. 
But  he  knows  Burns  was  to  our  place  Friday 
avenin',  an'  you  was  pinched  there ;  an'  I'm 
havin'  all  I  kin  do  to  kape  him  from  tellin* 
it — because  Mr.  Burns  wants  to  kape  me  out 
of  it  as  long's  he  kin." 

"I  wonder  why?  " 

"  That  I  don'  know.  But  he  was  anxious 
fer  it  not  to  git  out  about  it  bein'  on  account 
o'  me  the  dago  wouldn'  light  his  fuse." 

Peggy  stopped  short  and  clapped  her  hand 
to  her  mouth. 

"  I  forgot !  "  she  cried.  "  You  didn'  know 
that :  it  was  after  you  was  took  away.  Oh  1 
I'm  sorry  I  said  annything." 

"  On  account  of  you  ?  "  he  repeated,  blankly. 
"  Did  you  know  him  ?  " 

"It  seems  I  did,"  she  answered.  "But 
whin  you  was  there  I  couldn'  raymimber  it. 
He  thought  of  it — the  poor  fella  1 " 

"Poor  fellow  !  "  he  echoed,  wrathfully. 

"Sure  he's  a  poor  fella,"  she  contended  ; 
"  an'  my  heart's  heavy  fer  him.  Some  wan 
have  got  him  into  this,  jest  like  they  have 
got  you." 

He  flared,  angrily.  "  Do  you  think  any  one 
could  get  me  into  putting  a  bomb  under  a 
house  and  blowing  people  to  death?"  he  cried. 


194    THE  PENNY  PHILANTHROPIST 

"  No,"  she  answered ;  "  you'd  know  how 
tur'ble  it  was,  an'  you  wouldn'  do  it ;  I  guess 
they  had  to  use  you  widout  lettin'  you  find 
it  out.  But  he's  dif'runt.  Mr.  Burns  was 
tellin'  me  how  'tis  a  man  kin  do  a  thing  like 
that  an'  not  really  mane  no  harm ;  how  he 
kin  git  to  thinkin'  o'  the  money  he's  goin'  to 
git,  an'  bringin'  over  the  bambinos,  an'  niver 
have  room  in  his  mind  fer  to  think  o'  what's 
goin'  to  happen  to  other  folks  after  he  lights 
his  match." 

"  He  was  kidding  you  !  "  the  boy  cried. 
"There  couldn't  be  such  a  fool." 

"  I  belave  him,"  she  retorted.  "  I  can't  be- 
lave  there  could  be  such  a  divil — until  I  think 
o'  the  one  that  planned  all  this  an'  got  you 
two  into  it !  An'  I  s'pose  if  you  could  know 
his  mind,  you'd  find  that  he  had  it  all  ray- 
soned  out  that  it  wasn'  wrong  fer  him  to  do." 

"Well,  I'd  like  to  have  a  chance  to  tell 
him  a  thing  or  two  ! "  the  boy  said,  venge- 
fully.  "  If  there's  a  devil  in  the  world,  or 
anywhere,  it's  the  fellow  who  makes  dupes 
of  the  innocent  and  unsuspecting,  and  lets 
them  suffer  for  his  sins.  If  I  ever  get  out  of 
this,  I'll  find  the  man  who  got  me  into  it,  if  I 
have  to  give  my  life  up  to  it ;  and  I  won't 
wait  for  any  law  to  deal  with  him — I'll  do  it 
myself!" 


A  CASE  FOR  TOM  195 

Peggy  looked  distressed.  "  Now,  don't 
you  go  on  an'  talk  like  that  whin  they  bring 
you  to  court  in  the  mornin',"  she  entreated ; 
"  or  they'll  be  kapein'  you  locked  up  fer  a 
dang'rous  man  that's  likely  to  be  killin'  anny- 
body  he  has  a  grievance  wid.  What  you're 
to  tell  thim  is  that  you  ain't  niver  seen  that 
dago  but  the  wan  time — whin  they  brought 
you  to  him " 

He  laughed,  mockingly.  "  And  of  course 
they'll  believe  me  I  " 

"  Well,  1'ave  'em  prove  dif'runt  if  they  kin. 
An'  don't  git  grouchy,  thinkin'  it's  no  use 
to  difind  yersilf.  Spake  up  an'  tell  all  you 
know.  Try  to  raymimber  where  you  wint 
yeste'day " 

"How  can  I?"  he  interrupted.  "I  wasn't 
noticing  where  I  was  going ;  it  was  all 
strange  to  me.  All  I  knew  was  that  I  was 
getting  away  from  Halsted  Street,  and  from 
Madison,  and  trying  to  get  away  from  every- 
body I  had  ever  seen.  It  just  came  to  me 
all  of  a  sudden  that  I'd  go.  At  first,  I 
thought  there  was  no  use  putting  up  any 
fight — they  were  after  me,  and  they'd  get 
me.  Then — I  guess  it  was  the  book  I  had 
been  reading  all  morning — I  got  game,  all 
of  a  sudden.  '  Somebody's  got  to  fight  these 
fellows,'  I  said  to  myself,  'or  they'll  get  to 


196    THE  PENNY  PHILANTHROPIST 

where  they  were  before  the  French  Revolu- 
tion, when  they  could  clap  a  man  in  jail  if 
they  didn't  like  him,  and  keep  him  there 
till  he  rotted,  and  nobody  that  belonged  to 
him  could  even  find  out  where  he'd  gone.' 
Seemed  like  something  inside  me  just  boiled 
— and  so  I  ran.  I  might  have  known  bet- 
ter ! " 

"  I  wish  you  had  !  "  she  sighed.  "  But  that 
can't  be  helped  now.  If  you  had  of  stayed 
there,  they'd  know  that  somebody  besides 
you  knew  about  that  house,  an'  about  Burns 
an'  Mr.  Kimbalton  bein'  there.  I  dunno  why 
the  fella  that  tillyphoned  me  an'  sint  you  on 
that  chase,  an'  give  the  word  to  Burns  where 
he  could  find  you,  couldn'  have  been  watchin' 
to  see  where  he  took  you " 

She  stopped  short.  "  Petie ! "  she  said, 
forcing  her  mind  back  over  the  events  of 
Friday  evening.  "  Whin  he  come  in,  jest  be- 
fore Mr.  Burns  come,  he  told  me  our  place 
was  bein'  watched.  I  didn'  pay  no  'tention 
to  him  at  the  time,  because  he's  always 
sleuthin'.  But  why  couldn'  that  of  been  the 
fella  that  was  to  see  where  you  was  took  ?  " 

"  I  suppose  it  was,"  he  answered,  eagerly. 
"  But  how  can  we  prove  it  ?  " 

"  Well,  we  kin  tell  Mr.  Burns — an'  I  bet  he 
kin  prove  it  1 "  Peggy  cried. 


XXIII 

In  Which  Luigi  Keeps  On  Sayiri  Nothing 
Like  the  Tar  Baby 

AS  Peggy  stepped  back  from  where 
she  had  been  standing,  close  to  the 
bars  of  Tom's  cell  door,  she  saw  a 
familiar  face  in  the  adjoining  cell.  It  was  a 
tragic  face,  deep-written  with  the  marks  of 
despair  and  suffering.  Luigi  had  recognized 
her  voice  the  moment  she  spoke  to  Tom ; 
but  cowered  back  out  of  sight  because  he 
was  beginning  to  realize  in  his  dumb-animal 
way  that  he  was  bringing  grave  trouble  on 
this  young  man  and  sorrow  to  the  dear  little 
"  Penny  girl,"  because  he  dared  not  tell  who 
sent  him  to  Lucy  Kimbalton's  house.  "  The 
man  "  (Burns)  had  told  him  so ;  and  Luigi's 
heart  was  wrung — but  what  could  he  do  ? 
The  warning  delivered  to  him  had  been  ade- 
quate :  let  the  carabineri  do  what  they  might, 
it  could  not  be  so  dreadful  by  half  as  what 
would  happen  to  him  if  he  told  who  sent 
him  to  light  that  fuse.  And  Luigi,  it  must 
be  remembered,  had  a  hereditary  terror  of 
private  vengeance  exceeding  by  far  his  fear 
197 


198    THE  PENNY  PHILANTHROPIST 

of  the  police :  the  carabineri  often  missed  you 
— the  Camorra  or  Amafia  or  the  Black  Hand, 
never !  Which  was  the  reason  he  and  his 
kind  were  so  frequently  employed  to  bear 
the  brunt  of  situations  like  this. 

He  could  hear  snatches  of  what  Tom  and 
Peggy  said ;  but  they  talked  in  low  tones, 
standing  as  close  together  as  the  grating 
would  allow ;  and  even  if  Luigi  had  been 
able  to  hear  more,  much  of  their  talk  would 
have  been  unintelligible  to  him.  He  was  not 
alert  enough  to  try  to  hear,  or  to  understand. 
His  pathetic,  dog-like  mind  travelled  in  a 
small  round  from  the  bambini  to  his  present 
plight,  and  back  again  to  the  bambini. 
About  his  defense,  or  what  was  to  become  of 
him,  he  had  no  more  power  to  think  than  a 
cur  seized  by  the  dog-catcher  and  thrust  into 
the  terror-inspiring  wagon  for  the  pound. 
The  variety  of  his  fears  was  as  limited  as  the 
variety  of  his  sentiments,  but  both  were  in- 
tensive to  a  degree.  Peggy  was  probably 
the  only  sentiment  he  had  developed  since 
he  left  Italy ;  she  had  entered  his  starving 
heart  with  a  smile,  and  a  bright  posy,  and 
an  appeal  to  his  ready  belief  in  signs  and 
tokens.  He  would  have  done  a  great  deal 
to  help  to  spare  her ;  but  he  dared  not.  For 
those  who  punish  secretly  strike  where  the 


L  UIGI  SA  YS  NOTHING         199 

blow  hurts  most — on  the  bambini  in  Italy,  if 
they  think  that  will  stab  most  cruelly.  So 
Luigi's  lips  were  locked. 

He  shrank  back  when  he  saw  Peggy. 
And  she,  too,  was  dumb  ;  not  knowing  what 
to  say.  For  she  could  not  forget  that  she 
had  trapped  him.  And,  somehow,  not  even 
remembering  the  desperate  need  that  he  be 
caught  helped  her  to  like  any  better  the  way 
she  had  requited  his  regard  for  her.  As  she 
looked  at  him  and  read  the  despair  in  his 
face,  she  covered  her  face  with  her  tiny 
hands  and  wept. 

Luigi  came  close  to  the  bars  of  his  cell. 
"  Poor  penny-girl !  "  he  sobbed. 

Peggy  laid  one  arm  against  the  bars,  and 
buried  her  head  in  it.  Her  childish  form 
shook  with  grief. 

"  No,  no  ! "  the  Italian  entreated. 

She  lifted  her  head  and  tried  to  dry  her  tears 
with  her  coarse  little  cotton  handkerchief. 

"  You  ought  to  hate  me,"  she  cried. 

Luigi,  not  understanding  what  she  meant, 
made  no  reply. 

"You  try  save  me,"  Peggy  went  on,  en- 
deavouring to  make  herself  clear,  "  an*  I  help 
catch  you.  I  fale  very  bad  fer  you  an'  fer 
bambinos.  But  must  save  good,  kind  fri'nds. 
Can  you  understan'  ?  Can  you  forgive  ?  " 


200  THE  PENNY  PHILANTHROPIST 

He  nodded.  At  least  he  knew  "  forgive." 
It  had  not  occurred  to  him  that  Peggy  helped 
to  trap  him ;  it  was  not  at  all  clear  to  him 
now.  But  she  seemed  to  be  pleading  for 
something ;  and  he  nodded  reassuringly. 

"  Poor  penny-girl !  "  he  repeated,  trying  to 
express  his  sorrow  that  he  could  not  help  her 
further.  And  Peggy,  interpreting  it  accord- 
ing to  her  own  thoughts,  was  moved  by  his 
lack  of  resentment. 

"  Ye' re  a  gentler  soul  'n  me,"  she  murmured, 
"  fer  all  yer  dynamitin'  1  If  you  had  of  done 
it  to  me,  after  me  savin'  you,  I'd  have  cussed 
you  from  here  to  Ballyhickon." 

As  she  moved  back,  she  could  see  both 
men  she  knew,  each  in  a  strong-barred  cell. 

"  My  Ian'  1 "  she  sobbed,  turning  away. 
"  Whin  I  see  where  the  two  o'  thim  has  got 
to,  through  knowin'  me,  I  dunno  how  I  kin 
bear  it." 


XXIV 

In  Which  Peggy  Figures  Like  a  Heroine  of 
High  Romance 

UP-STAIRS,  in  the  captain's  office,  a 
young  man  sat  writing  rapidly  in  a 
stenographic  note-book.  Burns  and 
the  captain  and  one  or  two  others  looked  on 
with  strained  attention. 

The  moments  were  tense  with  drama  ;  for, 
down-stairs,  little  Peg  was  making  history — 
helping  to  write  the  first  chapter  in  the 
criminal  records  of  the  dictagraph,  a  device 
which  promises  to  revolutionize  the  sphere 
of  evidence.  Every  word  she  spoke,  every 
word  spoken  to  her,  was  transmitted  from 
the  skillfully  concealed  recording  disc  to  the 
receiver  up-stairs,  and  written  down  in  the 
presence  of  witnesses  including  a  notary. 

What  worth  the  dictagraph  may  have 
when  wrong-doers  have  begun  to  suspect  its 
presence  and  to  talk  to  it,  mendaciously — re- 
serving their  real  sentiments  for  expression 
only  on  tramps  in  the  open  country — is  hard 
to  determine  now.  But  there  could  be  no 
suspicion  of  disingenuousness  in  Peggy  or 

201 


202    THE  PENNY  PHILANTHROPIST 

Tom,  neither  of  whom  had  ever  heard  of 
such  an  instrument. 

"  For  this  case,  it  is  almost  like  a  miraculous 
intervention,"  Burns  remarked.  "  The  boy 
had  everything  against  him,  and  absolutely  no 
way  to  prove  his  innocence.  And  while  we 
contend  that  the  state  must  prove  guilt,  we 
have  to  admit  that  conviction  on  circumstan- 
tial evidence  is  likely  to  be  as  much  because  the 
prisoner  could  not  prove  his  innocence  as  be- 
cause the  state  could  infer  his  guilt.  Captain, 
that  boy  has  suffered  far  too  much  for  what  he 
did  not  do.  Can't  you  release  him  to-night? 
Parole  him  to  me,  or  make  me  responsible 
for  his  appearance  to-morrow  morning  so  he 
may  be  formally  discharged  by  the  court  ?  " 

The  captain  looked  doubtful.  "  I  don't  be- 
lieve I  can,  Burns.  You  see,  he's  booked  for 
conspiracy  with  intent  to  kill.  But  I'll  do 
what  I  can :  I'll  bring  him  up  here  and  make 
him  as  comfortable — in  mind  and  body — as 
if  he  was  a  star  witness." 

"  All  right— that'll  do.  And  I  don't  mind 
telling  you  that  I  haven't  been  as  glad  about 
anything  in  a  long  time  as  I  am  to  see  that 
boy  cleared.  If  he  had  been  implicated,  he 
might  have  helped  me  to  a  clue  I  need — but 
I'll  get  that  somehow  ;  and  I'm  glad  it  doesn't 
have  to  come  through  him." 


HEROINE  OF  HIGH  ROMANCE   203 

When  Peggy  came  up-stairs,  Burns  was 
not  the  only  one  whose  heart  beat  with  grate- 
ful gladness  because  of  the  joyful  surprise 
that  awaited  her.  She  was  a  pathetic  wee 
thing  indeed,  with  her  tear-stained  face  and 
her  effort  to  be  self-controlled  so  she  could 
tell  Mr.  Burns  about  Petie  and  the  man  who 
watched  their  shop  on  Friday  night. 

"  Could  I — spake  to  you  ?  "  she  entreated. 

Burns  nodded  to  the  others,  and  they  left. 

Then  she  told  him. 

He  listened,  gravely ;  when  she  came  to 
Petie's  part  in  it,  he  smiled. 

"  You  think  that's  nothin'  to  go  by  ?"  she 
cried,  challengingly. 

"  I  think  it's  a  good  deal  to  go  by,"  he  cor- 
rected. "  I'm  smiling  to  think  how  pleased 
Petie  will  probably  be  to  go  on  a  case  with 
me.  And  I've  got  something  even  better 
than  that  to  smile  about,  Peggy.  I'm  going 
to  hire  Petie  to  tend  the  '  imporium '  to-mor- 
row night,  so  that  young  man  of  yours  can 
take  you  to  a  show  and  celebrate." 

"  Young  man  o'  mine  ?  " 

"Well,  if  he  isn't  yours  he  ought  to  be.  I 
mean  Oliphant.  He  was  in  pretty  deep- 
but  you've  got  him  out." 

"Me?" 

He  explained. 


204  THE  PENNY  PHILANTHROPIST 

Peggy's  mouth  quivered  piteously.  "  This 
ain't  a  trick  ?  "  she  pleaded. 

"  I  know  I  deserved  that,"  he  admitted. 
"  But  when  we're  trying  to  be  just,  Peggy, 
we  must  use  any  means  the  law  allows  to  get 
the  truth.  I  don't  believe  in  the  third  degree 
— but  until  somebody  invents  a  mind-reader 
I  guess  I'll  have  to  use  what  you  call  tricks 
to  surprise  people  into  telling  the  truth.  This 
is  on  the  level.  I  only  wish  it  held  some 
hope  for  that  poor  devil  of  a  dago." 

"Don't  it?" 

"  Not  a  bit.  But  we'll  try  to  be  grateful 
for  what  we've  got.  Now,  I  kind  of  think 
you've  earned  the  happiness  of  telling  that 
boy  he's  cleared.  Wait  here." 

The  word  brought  to  Tom  was  that  the 
captain  wanted  to  see  him.  But  when  the 
door  of  the  captain's  office  was  opened,  and 
he  was  directed  in,  only  Peggy  was  there — 
in  evidence. 

Police  regulations  do  not  permit  of  all  the 
scruples  of  polite  society. 

"  According  to  all  the  rules,"  the  captain 
suggested,  "  that  ought  to  be  a  regular  third 
act  scene  for  the  By- Joe." 

Burns  smiled.  For  he  could  read  in  the 
constrained  self-consciousness  of  Tom  and 
little  Peg  a  drama  too  deep  for  words. 


XXV 

In  Which   You    Visit  the  Peggy    Chib — and 
Say  Good-Bye 

CHRISTMAS  had  come  and  gone. 
Anne  was  disappointed  because  the 
blessed  festival  could  not  be  cele- 
brated in  the  Peggy  Club.  But  it  takes  time, 
even  with  the  strong  urging  of  much  money, 
not  to  get  people  to  move  out  of  one  tene- 
ment into  another,  but  to  reconstruct  the 
rooms  in  accordance  with  such  ideas  as  Anne 
had  for  the  new  club. 

"  Christmas  never  meant  anything  to  me 
compared  with  what  it  does  this  year,"  Anne 
told  her  father.  "The  manger  and  the  shep- 
herds were  like  parts  of  a  pretty  story  that  I 
loved  but  didn't  really  understand.  Now  I 
know!  There  was  no  other  way  to  help. 
.  .  .  Peggy  has  taught  me  this." 

One  of  the  first  things  she  attended  to  was 
the  bambini.  Anne  spoke  Italian  fluently 
and  had  a  passionate  love  for  Italy  and  her 
people.  She  was  not  easily  able  to  over- 
come Ferucci's  fear,  greater  for  the  wife  and 
babies  even  than  for  himself,  and  get  him  to 
205 


206    THE  PENNY  PHILANTHROPIST 

give  her  directions  for  sending  them  some- 
thing to  make  a  merry  Christmas.  It  was  to 
go  to  them  as  from  him ;  if  he  did  not  want 
to  trust  her  with  the  name,  he  might  send  the 
money  or  get  some  one  to  send  it.  But 
Luigi  had  no  one  who  might  do  so  much  for 
him,  and  finally  he  consented  to  give  Anne 
the  directions.  It  was  she  who  took  the 
Italian  Consul  to  see  him — for  this  reason : 
Anne  had  suggested  to  her  father  that,  per- 
haps, if  Ferucci  on  investigation  were  shown 
to  be  a  harmless  sort  of  creature,  it  might  be 
possible  to  plead  for  a  suspension  of  sentence ; 
for  his  release  or  parole  to  her  father  or  to 
some  responsible  person  acting  for  Kimbal- 
ton.  But  Ferucci  was  thrown  into  a  panic  at 
the  suggestion.  Anne  had  lived  in  Italy  long 
enough  to  understand.  She  could  not,  how- 
ever, believe  that  his  fears  were  valid  in  this 
country.  This  she  asked  his  consul  to  assure 
him.  But  the  consul  could  not,  because  he 
could  not  know  who  had  threatened  Ferucci. 
Until  Burns  had  finished  unravelling  a  few 
more  mysteries — principally  those  which  con- 
cerned McNabb,  and  Petie's  story  of  what 
he  saw  when  he  followed  Burns  and  Tom  on 
that  Friday  night  and  learned  that  he  was 
not  the  only  one  who  went  to  see  whither 
they  were  bound — Luigi  Ferucci  was  really 


THE  PEGGY  CLUB  207 

better  off,  and  happier,  in  jail,  awaiting  the 
big  trial  that  was  imminent.  He  was  made 
glad  by  a  Christmas  letter  from  home,  and 
by  the  thought  of  what  the  splendid  remit- 
tance would  mean  to  them. 

"  Down  state,"  in  the  Oliphant  home,  there 
was  real  Christmas  joy,  too ;  because  Andrew 
Kimbalton  had  the  case  of  James  Oliphant  be- 
fore the  Pardon  Board.  Tom  went  home  for 
Christmas.  But  the  Kimbaltons  exchanged 
knowing  smiles  because,  although  he  had 
been  told  he  might  stay  till  after  New  Year's, 
he  was  back  again  on  the  evening  of  the 
twenty-sixth. 

On  Christmas  Eve  there  was  a  tree  in 
Peggy's  kitchen.  It  wasn't  a  very  big  tree, 
and  the  fruit  it  bore  was  not  great  in  size  but 
it  was  marvellous  in  quantity :  there  seemed 
to  be  something  on  it  for  "awful  many 
people."  When  Tony-of-the-wondrous-smile 
came  in  to  get  his  "  comics,"  there  was  some- 
thing on  the  glittering  tree  for  him,  and  there 
were  even  other  somethings  that  he  might 
take  home,  clasped  ecstatically  against  his 
palpitating  little  breast.  There  was  some- 
thing for  Alma,  and  something  for  Katie 
and  something  for  Ida — and  something  for 
Hazel.  Other  girls,  of  whom  you  have  not 
heard  because  our  little  chronicle  could  not 


208  THE  PENNY  PHILANTHROPIST 

tell  all,  found  each  a  bit  of  a  Christmas  gift 
and  a  lot  of  Christmas  spirit.  Petie  had 
been  made  so  inexpressibly  exalted  by  his 
association  with  Burns — who  found  delight 
in  humouring  the  youngster  as  much  as  the 
desperately  serious  business  in  hand  would 
allow — that  he  was  able  to  take  only  the  most 
condescending  kind  of  interest  in  so  babyish 
a  thing  as  a  Christmas  tree ;  but  the  way  in 
which  he  lent  his  attention  and  his  help  was 
no  small  part  of  the  Christmas  joy  to  some 
folks.  Then  there  was  Polly.  It  seemed  as 
if  Anne  and  Alma  between  them  were  going 
to  accomplish  for  Polly  what  Peggy  in  her 
blind  unselfishness  had  never  done.  Not 
without  many  discouragements,  of  course ! 
But  there  was  hope.  And  Peggy,  to  the  de- 
light of  Anne  and  Alma,  disclosed  a  sudden 
yearning  for  a  pretty  dress :  one  not  too 
pretty  to  tend  shop  in,  but  just  pretty  enough 
to — I'm  sorry  that  I  can't  show  you  the  look 
on  Peggy's  face  as  she  tried  to  explain : 
the  light  in  her  eyes  and  the  flush  in  her 
cheeks  and  the  sweet  telltale  twitching  of 
the  corners  of  her  mouth.  It  seemed  to  the 
two  girls  that  there  could  not  be  a  dress  in 
all  the  world  pretty  enough  to  meet  their 
idea  of  what  little  Peg  should  have.  Yet 
this  must  be  hers  in  the  truest  sense  of  being 


THE  PEGGY  CLUB  209 

her  choice ;  so  they  made  her  "  help  Santa 
Claus  "  by  selecting  just  exactly  what  she 
wanted. 

But  after  all,  Christmas  joys  were  almost 
overshadowed  by  what  was  going  on  up- 
stairs where  the  parlour  floor  of  the  old 
house  was  being  transformed  for  and  by  the 
Peggy  Club. 

The  girls  worked  at  it  every  evening,  and 
Anne  gave  a  great  deal  of  daytime  to  it. 
New  Year's  Eve  was  to  be  the  "  grand  open- 
ing." And  as  you  get  a  better  understand- 
ing of  some  things  in  their  preparation  than 
in  their  ready-for-company  completeness,  I'll 
ask  you  in  about  seven  o'clock  when  an  in- 
finitude of  last  touches  are  being  supplied. 

Of  course  Peggy's  in  command.  But  I 
don't  blame  you  if,  at  first  sight,  you  hardly 
know  her.  Alma  has  unbraided  that  tight 
little  braid  of  bright  hair,  and  fluffed  it  softly 
and  pinned  it  up  bewitchingly.  And  Peggy 
has  shining  new  shoes  on  those  wee  feet 
that  twinkle  here  and  there  and  everywhere 
all  in  one  superlatively  busy  second.  Then 
there's  the  new  dress.  You  can't  see  it  very 
well,  because  Peggy  has  an  apron  on.  But 
perhaps  you  wouldn't  think  it  was  much  of  a 
dress.  For  it's  only  a  warm  flannel,  although 
the  shade  of  green  is  surprisingly  becoming 


210    THE  PENNY  PHILANTHROPIST 

to  Peggy.  Anyhow,  it  has  all  the  things  she 
has  ever  dreamed  about  when  she  had  time  to 
dream  about  clothes  :  it  has  silk  braid  on  it, 
and  gold  buttons,  and  a  lace  collar.  And 
down-stairs  in  a  milk  bottle  is  a  big  red  rose 
that  Peggy's  going  to  wear  when  the  party 
really  begins. 

Everybody  else  is  fixed  up  too;  but  I  don't 
believe  you  care  about  how  any  of  the  rest 
look.  You  want  to  see  the  Peggy  Club. 

Well,  having  come  up  those  sagging 
wooden  steps  down  which  poor  Alma  once 
went  with  intent  so  desperate,  you  have  en- 
tered what  was  once  the  family  hall  but  is 
now  the  common  hallway  of  the  tenement. 
The  Peggy  Club  does  not  embrace  you  until 
you  have  passed  through  the  door  into  what 
was  once  the  family  front  parlour.  It  has 
been  newly-papered — as  the  whole  floor  has 
— and  you  probably  groan  when  you  see  the 
paper.  Anne  nearly  did.  It  is  red,  and  has 
gilt  figures  in  it  that  set  you  wondering  what 
form  in  art  or  nature  could  have  been  dis- 
torted for  their  production.  Never  mind  ! 
Peggy  chose  it.  And  Peggy  doesn't  have 
to  rack  her  brain  to  think  what  the  girls 
would  like:  she  knows.  She  is  responsible, 
too,  for  the  Nottingham  lace  curtains,  and 
for  their  being  white  instead  of  ecru  as  Anne 


THE  PEGGY  CLUB  211 

ventured  to  suggest;  and  for  the  tasselled 
"  drape "  on  the  shiny  new  piano  ;  and  for 
the  centre  table,  and  the  lamp  with  the  red 
roses  on  its  china  globe.  And  Anne,  remem- 
bering certain  "  Mission  Parlours  "  she  had 
seen  in  Homes  and  Welfare  places,  and  how 
they  chilled  one  with  their  cold  air  of  fail- 
ure, forebore  making  a  single  restraining 
criticism. 

There  is  an  old-fashioned  marble  mantel, 
not  unlike  those  in  Lucy  Kimbalton's  home  ; 
and  they  have  a  new  grate  for  the  disused 
fireplace — all  the  girls  favoured  that.  There 
has,  of  course,  to  be  a  stove  too :  a  self-feeder, 
heavily  nickelled.  But  they  like  the  idea  of 
sitting  around  an  open  fire.  I  won't  weary 
you  with  too  many  details,  but  I'd  like  you 
to  note  the  pictures.  Alma  and  Ida  spent  a 
Saturday  evening  on  Blue  Island  Avenue  se- 
lecting them.  One  pictures  a  young  man  of 
effeminate  beauty,  clad  in  the  costume  of 
young  Mozart's  day  and  seated  at  a  harpsi- 
chord ;  close  beside  him,  her  head  leaning  on 
his  shoulder,  is  a  young  girl  in  a  white  dress. 
Another  represents  a  terrace  scene,  probably 
a  French  chateau,  in  which  two  elegantly  and 
fancifully  attired  young  lovers  seem  to  have 
quarrelled  about  some  elegant  and  fanciful 
grievance,  and  a  third  party  is  trying  to  in- 


212    THE  PENNY  PHILANTHROPIST 

tervene  in  the  interests  of  that  reconciliation 
so  full  of  bliss  one  cannot  blame  lovers  for 
the  quarrels  with  which  they  contend  for  it. 
Then  there  are  two  pictures  also  with  a 
French  chateau  flavour,  depicting  a  Wedding 
and  a  Christening,  in  which  nobody — if  we 
may  judge  by  clothes — is  of  rank  lower  than 
a  Marquis  or  a  Marquise.  Ida  was  strongly 
in  favour  of  a  copy  of  "  The  Exiles  of  Tibe- 
rius," but  Alma  dissuaded  her. 

Now  I  know  your  eye  has  gone  roving, 
and  you  are  wondering,  in  a  puzzled  way, 
about  that  back  parlour.  I  don't  blame  you. 
What  are  all  those  strange  little  places,  like 
the  stalls  in  an  old  tap-room  ?  They  have 
no  books  in  them,  for  the  book  their  occu- 
pants will  wish  to  read  is  the  book  of  the  fu- 
ture ;  no  pictures,  because  the  young  people 
who  will  sit  in  them  will  paint  their  own 
lovely  pictures  with  which  no  art  in  the  world 
can  compete.  They  are  the  cozy  corners 
wherein,  as  sufficiently  screened  from  the  rest 
of  the  world  as  the  sons  and  daughters  of  the 
crowded  tenements  can  expect  ever  to  be, 
the  most  precious  thing  in  all  the  world  may 
be  tenderly  nurtured  instead  of  being  cast 
into  the  streets,  the  saloon  dance  halls  or  like 
places,  to  grow  rank  and  often  noisome. 

Can  you  see  Petie  ?     Did  you  ever  see  an 


THE  PEGGY  CLUB  213 

expression  of  such  vast  inscrutability  ?  From 
a  field  position  suitable  to  his  generalship  he 
is  directing  the  hanging  of  the  last  picture. 
Tom,  on  the  step-ladder,  is  glad  he  can  with- 
out offense  turn  his  face  to  the  wall  and  smile 
when  Petie's  patronage  becomes  too  excru- 
ciating. 

Polly  is  absorbed  in  Andrew  Kimbalton's 
gift,  just  arrived  :  a  phonograph.  She  has  it 
playing,  "Oh,  You  Beautiful  Doll,"  and  is 
dancing  to  the  tune — trying  its  tempo. 

Anne  is  everywhere — now  at  the  front  door, 
persuading  the  deliveryman  to  take  the  drip- 
ping ice-cream  kegs  around  to  the  rear,  and 
now  answering  Tom's  question  about  the 
height  of  the  picture,  and  now  showing  Polly 
how  to  soften  the  sounds  of  the  phonograph 
because  Peggy  pleads  that  she  "  can't  hear 
herself  think." 

Alma  is  immersed  in  the  commissary,  but 
emerges  now  and  then  to  ask  a  question  or 
to  comment  on  some  new  touch  of  prepara- 
tion. Alma's  work  is  hard,  and  she  won't  give 
it  up  until  she  has  found  for  herself  a  better 
job.  She  is  too  jealous  of  her  friendship  with 
Anne  to  admit  anything  into  it  but  a  fair  give 
and  take.  But  all  the  old  defiance  and  bitter- 
ness are  gone.  Because  hard  work  doesn't 
hurt  the  spirit,  and  Alma  is  happy,  now — 


214    THE  PENNY  PHILANTHROPIST 

happy  in  warm  human  relationships.  Strange 
that,  in  a  world  full  of  lonely  people  who 
need  nothing  so  much  as  one  another,  any 
one  should  go  starving  for  lack  of  friend- 
ship ! 

Now  here  come  Ida  and  Katie.  They 
have  got  a  room  together,  and  Ida  is  trying 
to  take  a  sort  of  responsible  care  of  Katie 
who  has  never  had  care  taken  of  her  be- 
fore. 

Katie  has  brought  a  donation  for  the  Club. 
She  made  it  herself,  and  she  is  bursting  with 
pride  and  importance  :  it  is  a  crocheted  tidy 
for  the  piano-stool. 

"  I  know  it  ain't  handy  to  have  a  tidy 
there,"  Ida  explains  to  Peggy,  whispering. 
"  It'll  get  mussed  when  it's  sat  on,  an'  be  in 
the  way.  But  I  couldn't  tell  Katie — she's 
been  so  happy  makin'  it !  " 

Peggy  nods  comprehendingly,  and  lovingly 
squeezes  Ida's  arm.  "  I  know.  I  bet  it's  the 
first  thing  that  poor  little  kid  iver  done  to  try 
an*  fix  up  a  place  like  she  fancied  it.  Say, 
Ida !  whin  I  look  at  that  tidy  I  bet  I'll  a' most 
cry/" 

She  does !  And  Anne  Kimbalton  goes 
hastily  into  one  of  the  little  "  stalls,"  her  heart 
so  full  that  for  a  moment  she  has  to  struggle 
for  self-control. 


THE  PEGGY  CLUB  215 

Linger,  if  you  want  to,  while  some  come 
whom  you  do  not  know :  girls  and  young 
men.  And  keep  dry-eyed  if  you  can — / 
can't ! — when  Hazel  stands  with  timid  bold- 
ness in  the  doorway  and  is  welcomed  with  a 
superb  lack  of  such  effusiveness  as  might  be- 
tray you  and  me  and  lose  Hazel  to  us  for- 
ever. .  .  . 

It  is  well  on  past  midnight,  and  the  party 
is  over.  Alma,  in  the  kitchen,  is  clearing 
away  the  last  of  the  dishes. 

In  the  front  room,  by  the  embers  of  the 
open  fire,  sit  little  Peg  and  Tom — talking  it 
over. 

Never  mind  what  they  have  been  saying. 
What  one  says  at  such  a  time  counts  for 
little,  anyway.  But  I  think  Peg  must  have 
murmured  something  about  being  up  in  a 
little  while  to  get  Petie  started  with  his 
papers.  And  then  I  think  Tom  said  some- 
thing about  a  day  not  too  distant  when  he 
has  "  made  good,"  and  Peggy  shall  not  turn 
out  in  dark,  chill  winter  mornings  like  that 
on  which  you  first  saw  her.  There  is  a  won- 
derful look  of  rapture  in  her  face  when  he 
says  that ;  even  in  the  firelight  it  is  plain  to 
see.  But  presently  she  shakes  her  head. 
Evidently  she  has  tried  to  think  of  a  life  that 


216  THE  PENNY  PHILANTHROPIST 

has  naught  to  do  with  the  "imporium" — 
and  she  can't. 

"  Wanst,"  she  says,  "  I  read  a  piece  o' 
po'try  that  I  liked  awful  much.  It  was  about 
some  wan  that  says  : 


'  L'ave  me  live  in  a  house  by  the  side  of  a  road, 
An'  be  a  fri'nd  to  man.' 


An'  I  kin'  of  fixed  it  over  fer  to  suit  me,  like 
this: 


"  L'ave  me  live  in  me  shop  on  Halsted  Strate, 
An'  be  a  fri'nd  whin  I  can. 


I  guess  there  ain't  no  spot  on  earth  fer  me 
but  this  here  corner.  An'  whin  I  think  o' 
heaven  I  belave  I  always  think  o'  me  there 
wid  Martinelli  on  wan  side  o'  me  an' 
Levinsky  on  the  other." 

For  a  long  moment  Tom  says  nothing. 
His  man's  pride  is  struggling  with  a  very 
considerable  hurt ;  for  men  have  not  yet 
grown  used  to  wooing  women  who  will  not 
leave  their  own  kingdom  but  must  be  loved 
where  they  have  made  their  world. 

"  And  where  am  I  ?  "  he  blurts  out. 

Peggy  laughs  at  his  petulance  ;  and  as  she 
rises  she  bends  over  and  kisses  him.  In  a 


THE  PEGGY  CLUB  217 

way  it  is  a  kiss  not  totally  unlike  one  she 
might  give  Petie  ;  only  she  does  not  know 
this — yet. 

"  You're  betwane  thim  too,"  she  says. 

Ah,  well !  he  may  be ! 


And  now,  I  hope  you're  glad — as  I  am,  to 
leave  dear  little  Peggy  in  her  "  shop  on  Hal- 
sted  Strate,"  still  giving  her  penny  a  day  and 
looking  for  opportunities  to  be  a  friend  when 
she  can. 

The  usual  way  with  heroines  we  love  is  to 
suggest,  in  closing,  their  transplanting  to  an- 
other sphere — one  that  has  been  created  for 
them.  Can  you  think  of  anything  you'd 
rather  have  for  Peggy  than  that  which  she 
has  made  for  herself  with  her  love  and  her 
faith  and  her  penny  philanthropy  ?  /  can't  1 


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